


Be More Like the Man You Were Made To Be

by jmcats



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, M/M, Payzer - past tense, Ziam Mayne - Freeform, larry stylinson - Freeform, zerrie, ziam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-04 04:50:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 38,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/706756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jmcats/pseuds/jmcats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam’s a little nervous about his new job working at a pub with Harry but he’s ready to make it through the summer before he starts the life he's planned out since he was ten. The thing is, he didn’t expect to meet and fall in love the group of people he finds at Cowell’s. And he definitely didn’t expect to find and fall for Zayn, the one guy who makes him feel invisible, months before his mapped out plan for life is getting ready to start.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be More Like the Man You Were Made To Be

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: There's a bit of an explicit scene in here and some foul language but would it really be a fun story if Harry or Louis didn't use foul language? There's also appearances from Perrie and Danielle that I hope doesn't turn anyone off to this story (I know how people can be) plus a bit of romance that hopefully comes across just as much fun as it does realistic.
> 
> The title of the story comes from a lyric by Mumford & Sons in the song "Sigh No More." There's also various lyrics from other songs throughout the story (Let me know if you need a list of them).

Change or new experiences aren’t something he’s always sought out in life.  Liam has always been grounded, stayed walking the straight and narrow until the line was almost invisible beneath his feet.  He knew his mission in life when he was but ten years old: get good grades, follow his parents’ example, go to university, receive a degree, get a well-paying job, find a wife, start a family, and then die with the kind of dignity only a well-raised man would carry.  He did a fairly decent job following that blueprint because, tried and true, it was the _right_ thing to do.

But somewhere, well into his teen years, he failed to remember _why_ he was walking that path?

Liam hasn’t stopped wiping the sweat from his palms on the rough material of his black trousers for ten minutes.  He’s tied and retied his apron at least six times, adjusting it around his waist before tugging on the collar of his black shirt.  His fingers trace over the name pressed in bold white letters on the short sleeve of the shirt: Cowell’s.  He shakes his hands, deep exhales out to shake off the nerves but it’s not working very well.  He takes a look in the rearview mirror of the car he’s leaning against, his brown eyes are wide, and a quick brush of his hand over his buzzed hair makes him long for those fringed, nearly blonde locks he had last summer.

It’s not his first job.  He’s done odds and ends for his father, worked at a hardware store for a few weeks, even spent a summer working at a bakery and that’s where he first met Harry; all Cherub sweetness with soft curls, big green eyes, and a cherry-bright smile that almost sickens Liam some days because there’s no way anyone in that town could be that gorgeous, cheeky, and cute at the same time.

Truthfully, Liam’s grateful to Harry for getting him this job.  It’s the summer just before his first year at University and he’s impossibly amazed that his parents have even agreed to let him leave home early to move to another town and work his way through it until classes start.  He read the worry in his mother’s eyes at the first suggestion, knowing deep down she wanted every last moment with her only son, but Liam’s become adept to Harry’s charm long ago – he could smile his way out of a trip to jail if need be.  Though that look his father gave him, standing outside the house, with Harry tucking his bags into the trunk of his car and that solemn, strong hand on his shoulder said everything he knew his parents felt.  A gentle squeeze, a simple nod, and his father was letting him go before he was ready to.

“Ready, mate?”

That deep, husky voice draws Liam’s attention immediately.  Liam glances over his shoulder to Harry leaning in the doorway of a brick building with an inexcusably warm smile and Liam still feels a bit off, fingers balling into a fist and releasing just as quickly, but he gives Harry a small nod before edging up onto the sidewalk and following Harry inside.

It’s not a traditional pub; not in the least bit.  Sure there’s a Union Jack hanging up in one of the corners and all the liquor and beer is stocked in that traditional sense behind the bar but there’s fancy tables with satiny cloths covering some of them and it’s a large, open space with booths that are lined in that nice leather that feels so upscale that Liam’s scared to run his fingers against the surface.  The floor is tiled in black and white and there’s a fancy pool table to one end, a makeshift stage with one of those new karaoke machines near the back.  A jukebox hugs one of the corners of the large space and it seems like the bar goes for miles though Liam’s certain it’s not bigger than any other bar he’s seen in magazines.

Harry’s leading him through the quiet evening crowd, nodding toward a few of the workers before waving wildly toward a blonde behind the bar, his Irish accent a little thick and Liam’s offering a small nod and a smile when the blonde grins manically at him.  They escape toward the kitchen where it’s a little loud and it’s all pots, pans, orders being called in and a heat that Liam swears he’ll never get used to.  The kind of heat that sticks to the skin and leaves sweat trickling down the small of his back, Liam immediately wishing he was back outside to breathe in the cool, swelling air of the city under a summer sky.

Liam does his best to adjust to the humidity of the kitchen, knows that he’ll be in there quite a few times during his shifts.  He knows being a barback is just a stepping stone and, if he’s incredibly lucky, he’ll only be doing it a few weeks before he can possibly bartend or be a waiter.  Harry and his deliberately persuasive personality managed to skip this stage and go straight into waiting tables the minute he landed the job a few weeks before convincing Liam’s parents to let him join Harry.  Not that Liam was jealous because he’s the kind of young lad who works from the bottom up, no matter what he does.  He enjoys the pressure, the workload because it makes him feel accomplished at the end of the day.

He’s only working to save up money for Uni and to possibly buy a car.  He was fortunate to get a partial scholarship from his days of running cross country through year 13 but it’s not enough and his parents are small town folks; hardly having enough money to help Liam with something like tuition, books, and clothes.  He knows he’ll need a car while in Durham and parts of him wishes Harry was accompanying him but Harry’s attending another University closer to home and he’s fortunate that Harry’s agreed to give him a ride to the pub anytime they both work similar shifts.

“Right, shall we go over the basics?” Harry asks, leaning up against a counter where empty white plates are lined up and one of the chefs is grumbling toward him but Harry’s carefree about it all.

Liam nods, brow knit together with his hands at his sides.  “Yeah.”

“Okay, so things are busiest around here from around seven to close.  It’s pretty dead around here during the day which is why I got us night shifts; it’s where all the best tips are, mate.  Seven is usually when the younger blokes and their mates or girlfriends pile in.  Once a week Mr. Cowell hosts an open mic night because, for some reason or another, he likes to think he can find good talent.  Think he used to be some record producer or something,” Harry says, swiping an apple from the pantry.  He’s taking a large chunk out of it before adding, “There’s usually a good crowd on that night.  Everyone’s pretty much a family around here.  Everyone puts up their share of the work, for the most part.  We all know most people are here to get pissed and get some decent nosh and this place isn’t like the usual pubs your mum and dad go on about.”

Liam’s nodding slowly, taking it all in as Harry bites into the apple again.

Harry’s pointing at him with almost squinted eyes, face turning almost too serious.  “But let me warn you this: avoid dating anybody on the staff.  Bad stuff comes out that, trust me.  Mr. Cowell doesn’t look down on it or anything but he doesn’t encourage it.  Probably because he shagged one of the day managers and it turned kind of Psycho real quick.”

He knows his eyes are a little wide when Harry’s finished but he merely nods once more, rubbing at his chin.  “Got it.  No snogging any of the fit waitresses.”

“Right, because you and I both know once you get sloshed that you fancy bonking someone with a nice pair of knockers, eh?” Harry asks, eyebrows wagging and if Liam didn’t know Harry better he’d shove him across the room before he merely rolls his eyes and slides his hands into his pockets.

“Okay, now that that’s out of the way, we should probably head out there since my shift started about,” Harry takes a glance to his wrist, pretending to check an invisible watch, “oh, about _ten_ minutes ago.”

Liam follows Harry back into the pub’s main room and, sure enough, the place is alive with loud music, young boisterous guys with either their arms slung around a pretty girl or slapping hands with their mates while begging for another drink.  Harry adjusts his bowtie and the buttons on the sleeve of his white shirt before jerking his head for Liam to follow.

Harry explains that Mr. Cowell doesn’t really make an appearance in the pub except to open up in the afternoon, lock up at close, and occasionally stop in during the day for a spot of tea and a read of the newspaper.  The schedule is usually posted outside of the office door where Cher, a nice older lady with black hair and a coughing laugh, counts up the money and does all the boring stuff that Mr. Cowell hates to be bothered with.  Some guy named Paul is in charge of things during the evening but Harry ensures he just looks like a tough guy; “he’s sort of a teddy bear when you need something,” Harry jests, chipper smile blanketing his lips when a pretty redhead passes him with a wink.

“And this here is my dear pal Niall who is not from around here,” Harry says loudly when he and Liam fit themselves between the small crowd at the bar.  The young blonde is nodding in his direction, almost too baby faced with glittery blue eyes and a sunshine-bright smile on his lips as he pours up two pints from the tap.

“What are you lot drinking?” Niall asks, leaning on the bar with this goofy grin that sets Liam at ease.  His accent is still broad and Irish-tinged but everything about him reminds Liam of a few kids he knew in secondary school.

“Oi, no drinking on the job silly,” Harry insists, reaching across the bar to ruffle Niall’s hair until Niall’s pulling back with a mock frown.  Harry giggles, easing back while adding, “Not unless someone’s buying, of course.”

“Can I get a pint and one for yourself?” One patrons calls out and Liam shrinks a little at the bellowing tone but he knows this is nothing like the places he’s been to back home.  But Niall’s making a joke and pouring up another glass with a manic laughter and Liam’s feeling something in the pit of his stomach: at ease.

**

Liam’s clearing a few tables, dropping empty beer mugs and rock glasses into a black tub before wiping down the tables thoroughly.  He’s easing through the crowd that’s become a little thicker since he and Harry first stepped back onto the floor.  Harry’s tossing his curls around, flirting shamelessly with a table full of women with a notepad and pen in hand.  Some Kelly Clarkson song is blasting through the jukebox and Niall’s wailing: _Since you’ve been gone._

“Malik, you daft, gorgeous lad… you’re late!” Niall shouts sliding two shots of whiskey to a pretty, thin blonde who’s stretching over the bar to give Niall a glimpse down her low cut top.

Liam’s lifting brown eyes from where he stands behind the bar, wiping down a few clean glasses when someone slips behind him, tossing a letterman jacket near the till and flashing a grin that leaves Liam a little amazed.  The guy’s got caramel brown eyes when the light hits them, a sharp jawline, dark hair that’s gelled into a quiff and, for a reason Liam would love to know, a thick blonde streak running through it.  He’s thin but not skinny and there’s a hint of muscle showing as he gathers a few shot glasses across the bar and flexes while draining half a bottle of bourbon into them.  Liam catches the tattoos sketched across his forearm, colorful and scattered but Liam’s trying not to stare, wiping down a spot on the bar for minutes until the guy is spinning on his heels, taking a few orders inches from Liam and, honestly, Liam can’t help stare at those pinkish lips, sunset gold skin, and sprinkling of hairs across his chin and along his cheeks.

Liam peels his eyes away when those hazelnut brown eyes fall on him, an eyebrow quirked and Liam’s snatching up his tub and towel, scurrying from behind the bar as scarlet hue stains his cheeks and the tops of his ears catch on fire.  Harry’s slinging an arm around his shoulder just as he’s escaping, dragging him back a little and he can’t help but tilt his head downward when Harry announces, “Liam Payne, please say ‘ello to our dear Zayn Malik.  He's a bit of a vain chap but when he's not being an arse, he's quite the good guy.  He and Niall are the main bartenders at night.”

He glances up a little to catch the small nod Zayn gives him, breath caught because Zayn’s studying him for a moment and when has Liam ever thought that a _man_ was remotely exotic? Gorgeous even and Liam’s kicking himself, nodding at Zayn and suddenly he’s a mute.

“Liam’s our new barback,” Harry adds, brow raised when he looks on Liam and Liam’s certain Harry can feel his embarrassment through his clothes.  “Good, responsible fella, he is.”

“Just trying to fit in,” Liam shrugs, risking a glance at Zayn but there’s still nothing coming from the other boy’s velvety pink lips.

“Doing a fine job lad,” Niall says with a salute and Liam’s genuinely smiling, adjusting the tub under his arm.

“Well I –“

“Push over boys,” a smoky voice says and Liam watches a blue-eyed, purple-haired beauty slide in next to Harry at the bar, hips nudging a patron out of the way as she leans in.  “Zayn, I need two pints, a half, shot of Don Julio, chilled, and some pixie with a pain in the arse of a bloke with her wants some fancy drink with an umbrella in it.”

“Coming up babe,” Zayn says with a smile that could rival the fireworks during New Years, tongue pushed against white teeth and he’s sliding away just as quick as he came.

“That would be one of our more upfront waitresses, Perrie,” Harry whispers to Liam, eyebrows wiggling and Liam’s watching her twist a finger through her hair while ignoring a few customers beckoning her attention.  Harry sighs, pulling Liam away while adding, “She’s friendly when she wants to be but don’t expect her to bail you out when you’re in a pinch.”

Liam’s nodding slowly, glancing back over his shoulder to catch a grin shared between Perrie and Zayn and it feels so familiar from days he once knew.  It twists a knot in his stomach and he’s trying to push away that small frown that’s threatening to swallow his face.

**

Liam meets a little more of the staff throughout the night like Zoe, who works in the kitchen, is incredibly nice, and slides him some chips after his third dash to the kitchen to grab an order for Niall.  Eleanor is another waitress whom Liam finds incredibly beautiful with her wavy brown hair pulled up into a messy ponytail and, somehow, she’s the exact opposite of Perrie because she’s sweet, quiet, and makes him feel more like a brother rather than ‘the new guy.’  Nick is another one of the waiters who has a booming personality and, if Liam’s being honest, is a bit much but Harry seems to be fond of him so Liam merely nods and ignores their childish antics throughout the night.  Ed helps out in the kitchen and his cherry red hair is unkempt and Liam’s kind of certain he resembles a cat his sister had when they were kids whenever he smiles at Liam.

He learns, later on from Harry, to be wary of taking drinks that Niall makes because he’s heavy-handed and, according to Harry, “I’ve seen a many of blokes fall like Lego’s ‘cause of him.  Two drinks and it’s ‘abandon ship!’”  The guys seem to love them and flock to Niall any chance he’s available while the ladies pile on around Zayn’s portion at the bar to stare at him with fluttering eyelashes and overly done makeup.

He gets on well with Niall and even sneaks Niall a couple of plates of food throughout the night because as much as the crowd loves Niall’s drinks, Niall loves any and everything Zoe creates back there in the kitchen.  There’s a moment where he’s a bit overwhelmed and Eleanor gives him a hand bussing a few tables, smiling at him with doe-like brown eyes and sharp cheekbones.

“Crowd’s here get pretty crazy and messy,” she insists while wiping down a table, puffing out a breath of air to blow loose strands of hair from her face.  “You’ll get used to it.”

“Thanks,” Liam says, offering her a polite smile and she just shrugs with an equally bright smirk, patting his shoulder before attending to a few of her tables.

“Complete doll,” Harry chimes, clasping hands on the back of Liam’s shoulders.  Liam’s nodding, watching the door when the bell rings and praying it’s not another large crowd but it’s just one guy this go round and Harry whispering, no, hissing, “Unlike this little twat whom I wish would stop staring at me every time he comes in.”

Liam’s brow is raised, watching the young guy with the ocean blue eyes, brown hair swept and styled, bright stripes running across his shirt with his chinos rolled up, and Tom’s on his feet.  He walks with a bounce that’s almost cocky and a smile that reflects so much more.  He’s something out of those 80’s movies his mother goes on about, hands in his pockets like someone who's too posh for his own good as he swivels up to the bar and plops down on one of the stools.

Liam catches the rippling smile that spreads across Zayn’s face when looking on the lad and he giggles out, “Vas happenin’.”

“Zayn, my love, my life is _over_.”

Zayn quirks an eyebrow with a sideways smile before pouring a quick cranberry and vodka for a waiting customer.  He’s slipping a few cocktail straws into the small glass, sliding it down and stashing the quid in the till before spinning back around.  “Louis Tomlinson, what’s wrong now?”

“I haven’t had a date in _weeks_ and I feel so completely daft about it,” Louis sighs heavily and dramatic.  He rests his chin on his knuckles, lips pouting while Zayn rolls his eyes, drying off a few clean shot glasses.

“Thought you were looking for some chaps to shag, not _date_ ,” Zayn notes, biting down on his lower lip when Louis’s eyes shoot open and he gapes at Zayn for a long moment.

“You little wanker, you know I’m not _that_ easy,” Louis chides as Zayn raises his hands in mock defense, snickering.  Louis groans, sighing loudly as Zayn mixes up another drink.  He slides his index finger back and forth along the bar before adding, “Maybe I’m just lonely because my best friend is always working at night in a bar where there’s just no potential mates for poor little me?”

“You’re mad.  You were just snogging some poor guy last week in the loo while I was working,” Zayn snorts, leaning forward on the bar with a towel hanging from his shoulder and a wild grin on his lips.

“Not my fault.  I must’ve been insanely depressed to have taken drinks from our dear old Niall,” Louis says offhandedly, head jerking in Niall’s direction and Niall’s giving him a thumbs up, carefree smile bounding his lips.

“You took the guy back to your flat,” Zayn notes, dropping a few cubes into an empty glass before pouring half the glass full of Jack Daniels and spraying in some Coke.  He’s dropping three cherries into it before sliding it to Louis.

“It was the drinks.”

“And the young guy from two weeks ago who I swear isn't in Uni like he says he was…”

“The _drinks_ Zayn, Jesus,” Louis boasts with a hint of irritation in his tone.  He’s downing almost half the drink, sighing again.  Zayn’s grin remains.

“Think maybe he’s just holding out in hopes that one day you’ll make his wishes comes true and set him up with a certain young waiter, eh Zayn?” Niall suggests lowly, arm slung around Zayn’s shoulders while his head motions toward Liam and Harry.

Louis’ spinning on his stool, drink in hand, and Harry’s ducking behind Liam though he and Liam both know that’s impossible and Liam’s certain he freezes up when Zayn looks on him.  He feels foolish because, come on, _who_ is Zayn to leave him like this?  Those brown eyes aren’t anything special; except they are because they’re exotic and that jaw flexes just a little, tongue wetting lips and Liam feels shy like when his parents would make him sing for their crowd of friends when he was five years old.

“Hiya Harry,” Louis calls out with a tiny little wave and Harry’s groaning, popping up from behind Liam with a small nod of his head, hands shifting through his hair before tossing it back; trademark Harry.

“Think our dear Louis is going to keel over,” Niall jokes, Zayn chuckling while cleaning out a few more glasses.

“Catch ya later,” Harry says quickly and he’s dashing off, leaving Liam standing awkwardly.

“And who is _that?_ ” Louis asks loudly, spinning back around.  He’s sipping on his drink, bright eyes on Zayn and Niall.

Liam rubs a hand over the back of his head, feet scoffing against the ground and he knows he should be doing something but then Zayn’s saying, “Liam.  New guy.”

Zayn’s eyes are on him, curiosity circling soft browns before he’s taking another order across the bar.  Liam turns then, chewing on his bottom lip.  He lets the thundering bass of a Queen song blare into his ears and he’s not hearing anything else Louis says to Zayn.  He shoots Eleanor a small smile, wondrously fake and he wonders if she can see through it.  He wonders if he looked in the mirror would he see through it.  He was here to make money, get a head start on his plans for University and for life; not think about a bartender whom he just met and, quite frankly, wouldn’t matter in a couple of months.

But there was something about Zayn that fascinated Liam in an uncomfortable way.  He thinks about telling Harry about it while they’re both in the kitchen for a moment but then Harry’s going on about the way Louis is looking at him and Liam pushes his thoughts aside because, really, he’s tired and there’s more to be done.  He thinks maybe he’ll tell Harry about it later when they get back to their flat and he spends the rest of the night avoiding anything that involves Zayn because just _looking_ at Zayn seems to leave his fingers tingling in a way that’s not proper.

**

Liam doesn’t know how he survives the last hour of his shift.  His feet are killing him, his back aches a little, he’s a bit sweaty, and he reeks from that lager some guy accidentally spilled on him while trying to be smooth with a very uninterested girl.  He’s dragging trash out to the back and uses the back of his hand to wipe away the sweat when he gets outside.  The night has just the right touch of coolness that feels satisfying against his skin, eyes closed as he tilts his head up to the purplish skies above.

There’s a wavering scent of smoke filling his nose and he’s shocked he isn’t wrinkling his nose but the smell isn’t overwhelmingly bad.  There’s a small cough and Liam’s shaken, eyes batting open as he turns to his left.  He swallows a gasp, eyeing Zayn leaning against the brick building taking another deep drag of his cigarette.  Zayn looks on him, nodding, and exhaling a swirl of blue smoke through his nostrils.

Liam scratches the side of his head, kicking his feet along the ground and, fuck, he’s a kid again?  He runs his thumb along his chin while Zayn inhales once more, eyebrow arching questioningly.

“Busy night, eh?” Liam finally asks, shoving his hands into his pockets and part of him is put off by the way Zayn’s so cool with the cigarette dangling from his lips, fingers dancing over the edges of that still styled quiff, and his foot is kicked back and propped against that brick wall like he’s James Dean or something.

Zayn’s doesn’t respond, merely nods, another swirling exhale of smoke.  Liam’s avoiding the tug at his heart that’s kind of fascinated by the way Zayn _does_ look shockingly cool while doing it.

“I’m quite beat, mate,” Liam adds, awkward laugh following as Zayn raises his brow and shrugs.  Liam’s saying, “But I guess it’s cause I’m new to all of this, yeah?”

Zayn nods again, slowly, flicking his cigarette to the ground and stubbing it out with the toe of his Nike's.  He takes in a deep inhale of fresh air and Liam’s waiting for some joke or kind, quiet smile but it never comes.  Zayn merely shrugs those small shoulders once before slipping back inside and Liam’s boxing with a small frown before kicking a few stray rocks across the asphalt.

His frustration is draining but he can’t help it.  Who was Zayn Malik, anyway?  Liam was being polite, _nice_ but the guy can’t even utter two words?  Hasn’t since the night began.  And it’s not that Liam needs validation but, really, was he that bad to talk to?

He doesn’t want to think about it.  In fact, he doesn’t.  He stomps back into the kitchen where Harry’s laughing and joking with Eleanor and Niall’s stuffing a plate of bangers and mash into his mouth.  He sighs softly and Harry almost reads it on his face, hopping off the kitchen counter while Zoe swats at him with a dishtowel and they’re finishing up their cleaning for the night in silence.  Liam doesn’t bother saying anything else to Zayn, getting his split of the tips from Harry when they get in the car and when Harry asks, he doesn’t talk about it.  He doesn’t even let it settle into his brain that maybe, just maybe, he’s upset because Zayn was sort of cute and his accent was intoxicating and Liam had already managed to remember exactly where at least three of Zayn’s tattoos were inked into the skin of his forearm.

No, he stays quiet and, honestly, he’s too exhausted when they get back to their flat to do anything but shower, sip slowly on a cup of hot tea Harry’s made for him, and crawl onto the couch to pass out.

**

Liam doesn’t have time to sort out his thoughts on Zayn or much of anything the rest of the week.  The pub gets busier as the week goes on and, true to Harry’s words, it’s even busier on open mic night.  Liam gets used to the crowds, even manages to grow accustom to the way things seem to be nonstop from seven ‘til about three minutes before close.  He’s becoming quicker at clearing tables, setting up dirty glasses for the wash, doing runs for Harry and Eleanor when they’re overwhelmed while also taking drinks Niall’s created from the bar to a few of the tables.

He tries not to laugh through every performance on open mic night even though it’s a lot of pissed customers singing corny love songs or doing their best to rap through songs Liam’s never heard butchered so well.  He’s in a bit of awe when Ed sneaks away from the kitchen to perform a song without the silly karaoke machine; just a mic, a guitar, and a stool but his voice is entrancing and the crowd is left applauding and hooting like they’ve just watched something special. And Liam knows, deep down, that they sort of have.

He’s becoming adept at sneaking Niall plates of food even though Zoe pretends to chastise him every time he steps into the kitchen with puppy dog eyes and a pouting frown on his lips.  But usually she’s smiling when she slides him a plate of chips, sometimes a pastry, or a basket of crisps and Liam’s biting back a smile as he scurries out of the kitchen back to the bar.

He’s gotten used to the way Niall’s always making jokes and barely notices when someone’s flirting with him across the bar because he’s too busy pissing around with Zayn but it might be that Niall’s a bit dim.  He spots the way Harry ducks into the kitchen each and every time Louis strolls in but eventually he’s back at the bar, getting orders of drinks from Zayn while avoiding those lovesick stares Louis’ giving him.  And Liam’s adjusted to the way Louis’ quite loud, dramatic about almost everything but he’s cheeky in a way that leaves Liam secretly laughing at some of his jokes or the way he openly makes fun of “the foolish blokes on a pull even though they’re quite pissed.”  And Louis’ always order some exotic drink even though Zayn only makes him Jack and Coke with no less than three cherries or slides Louis a lager that he turns his nose up at but still swallows half of just to get the courage to start another conversation with Harry.

Liam catches the way Eleanor always finds time to stop by the bar when Louis is there, smiling innocently but Liam spots that pinkish blush striking those beautiful cheekbones when Louis compliments her.  He would’ve mistaken it for flirting any other time but he’s sorting out that Louis likes to have fun with ladies but is most certainly into men; men like Harry.  And sometimes Liam wonders if Harry _really_ hates the attention Louis gives him because there’s times he can see a speckling of blush in his cheeks when Louis compliments his hair with a subtle index finger tracing down the veins on the back of Harry’s hand.  He doesn’t give Harry shit about it later when Harry’s in a corner of the kitchen with dimples fully pronounced, red lips spread into a smile that shows almost every white tooth in his mouth, and fingers toying with the ends of his soft curls.

There’s a night when they’re shorthanded because Eleanor’s mum is sick and Nick’s out doing some kind of coverage at the radio station he usually works at in the mornings.  Harry’s a little flustered that night, gripping, “And that stupid guy at the table ordering fucking martini’s and food for a table of five like they’re a table of _fifty_.”  He doesn’t even bother chatting with Louis that night and Liam spies the way Louis’ a little less enamored as the other times and has a few more drinks than usual before stumbling out with a mild frown.

Liam’s really sweating that night.  He doesn’t have Eleanor’s extra hands to help clear off tables and he’s doing his best to aid Harry, especially when Harry slams through the kitchen door proclaiming, “Fuck it.  I don’t care how many tips I get, I’m not serving that table of punks.”  Even Liam tenses up when Zoe barks at Harry but Harry’s waving it off like a good brother-sister spat, snatching up his next plate of food while giving Liam a pleading look.

Liam falls behind on his duties somewhere that night and part of him is cursing Harry Styles for even getting him this job but someone manages to clear a few of his tables and washes out a bunch of the mugs and glasses before he finally gets a chance to slip back behind the bar.  He lets out a quiet sigh, wiping his forehead along the sleeve of his shirt.  He’s quite certain it’s Harry and when Harry stumbles up to the bar with his bowtie a little out of place and a desperate look on his face, Liam says, “Thanks mate.  Didn’t think I could get all of this stuff done by myself.”

Harry shoots him a puzzled expression and Liam raises his brow.  Harry shakes it off before saying, “Don’t know what you’re talking about Payne but I need two rum and cokes, a whiskey sour, two lagers, a Cider, and some overly dressed lady wants a blueberry martini.  Fucking bullshit.  Help me out, eh Niall?”

“Right,” Niall chimes, clapping his hands together before shelling out several glasses across the bar.

“Thanks chap,” Harry sighs out, relief sliding against his words.

Liam’s still confused but Harry’s sliding away from the bar without a word.  Liam thinks to call to him but Niall nudges him with an elbow before saying, “Harry didn’t do it.  Zayn did.”

Liam can’t hide his face of surprise.  There’s a tick-tock riding through his heart for a moment and he glances to his right where Zayn’s cleaning off a few glasses with a solemn expression.  Gravity takes the wind from beneath Liam and he’s watching Zayn nibble on his bottom lip, shrugging.  Liam’s mouth opens to speak but Zayn does before he can: “Need a fag.  Cover for me Niall.”

Zayn’s slipping from behind the bar, patting the bottom of the pack in his hand, not even bothering to look back at Liam.  Parts of him still feel nauseous with that feeling of gratitude and confusion but his fingers ball into fists because there was _that_ Zayn again; the one that never really saw Liam.  He slams his towel onto the counter and tries his best to balance his expression through anger and a frown.

“He’s a good guy, that Zayn Malik,” Niall insists, shaker in his hand before he’s straining some blue liquid into a fancy Martini glass.  He drops a cherry into it before sliding soft blue eyes on Liam.  Liam’s shaking his head before Niall’s adding, “He does things like that for all of us.  Just helps out.  He might not show it, but he cares and he seemed to genuinely worry about ya.  Matter of fact, the poor lad was downright _concerned_ you weren’t going to be able to handle it.”

“I’m good at taking care of myself,” Liam states, frustrating sigh passing through his lips.  He’s staring straight off, ignoring everyone because he’s certain he’s angry with Zayn.  He’s not in the least bit touched by the way that the one person that barely acknowledges him is actually a wee bit concerned about him.  Nope, not in the least bit.

“You are, but maybe he doesn’t wanna see you _kill_ yourself trying to?” Niall suggests, gathering the drinks up onto a tray for Harry.

“Right.  The guy barely pays attention to me,” Liam grumbles, scooping up his tub and towel.

“He pays attention Liam,” Niall calls out as Liam slides from behind the bar.  Liam gives a look over his shoulder to a smiling Niall whose saying, “You might not know it, but the lad is quite fond of ya.  Reckon that bloke thinks you’re a hardworking guy who’s way too nice.  Don’t give up on him.  He makes a pretty swell friend.”

Liam nods before edging through the crowd again.  He wants to believe it’s all rubbish because wouldn’t that be smashing?  Zayn Malik actually _likes_ him and wants to help him in any way?  And he’s supposed to believe the man that’s been handing Liam the silent treatment all week actually cares about his well-being when it was much easier just to glare at Liam and ignore him.  But there’s a subtle tug at Liam’s conscience and Zayn _did_ clear a few of his tables, help clean most of the glasses for the night, and he might’ve missed a few of Harry’s orders but there were no complaints from the customers or Harry so maybe Zayn helped with that too?  Maybe Zayn was this person that Niall claims he is and Liam’s feeling a bit gutted because there were bits of him that wanted to hate Zayn desperately but how could he?

But somewhere, running along the side of his brain, Liam wonders if he actually wants Zayn to be the _friend_ Niall suggested he could be.

**

Liam makes it through the weekend rush without too many troubles.  He spends most of Saturday in the bed, pillow over his head and spread out like a starfish along the rumpled sheets.  Sunday morning he ends up in a park with Niall and Harry playing football and he’s thankful Sunday night he doesn’t have a shift because he ends up at Eleanor’s flat watching _Love, Actually_ for the millionth time and he doesn’t hide the way he smiles when Joanna finally kisses Sam on the cheek.  He hides away beneath the comforter she gives him, holding her hand through some of the movie and maybe she’s had one too many glasses of wine because she goes on about Louis and the one time they snogged behind the pub because Louis was terribly drunk and she was quite upset about some breakup.  Liam giggles because she knows it was a daft idea and really she thinks Louis is brill but she knows better.  It’s written like colorful graffiti in her brown eyes and Liam nods, easing a comforting arm around her shoulders.

“I’m sure he’s quite ace,” Liam assures her, grinning at the hiccup-filled giggle that escapes her lips.

“And quite fabulously in love with Harry Styles,” she says, hand immediately covering her mouth like an unknown secret has just escaped.  Liam just snorts, head shaking while looking on the film.

“It’s a shame Harry doesn’t seem to think Louis is the dog’s bullocks, right?” Liam asks, his eyebrow twitching upward and Eleanor’s giggling and laughing sheepishly.

“Such a shame,” she sighs, dragging fingers through her hair.  “Maybe after a proper bender though.  Who knows?”

“Who knows,” Liam repeats quietly, bringing his knees up on the couch and letting Eleanor rest her head on his chest.

“Zayn is quite fit though, yeah?  Not that I’m assuming you, well, you know –“

“I do,” Liam laughs out, threading his own fingers through her hair.  She’s looking up, batting eyelashes and it’s an endearing sight.  He shakes his head, teeth chewing lightly over his bottom lip.  “I fancy men, I mean.  Sometimes.  I didn’t used to but then one day I did and it was such a terrible thing because I was madly in love with my girlfriend at the time.  I think it’s just something I avoided and part of me knows I still find women quite fascinating but I can admit every once in awhile my eyes are on a guy or two.”

“Like Zayn?” Eleanor wonders, dreamy sigh escaping her lips.  She’s throwing her hand over her mouth again, giggling.

Liam rolls his eyes, looking back toward the television because, no, not Zayn.  Not Zayn at all.  Not even on his _worst_ day.

“He’s a bit of a prat, El.  I don’t think he can stand the sight of me,” Liam confesses, letting her sit up to take another long, swirling sip of her wine.

“Oi, Liam, you sound so daft.  Of course he likes you.  He likes almost everyone.  You just have to get to know him,” Eleanor insists, head tipping back.  She sighs again, staring up at the ceiling.  “In fact, he actually treats you better than he does most new people.  You don’t hear the way he talks about you, but he thinks you’re pretty swell.  I mean, as much as Zayn could.”

She’s smiling behind her almost empty glass and Liam’s staring straight ahead, trying not to look shocked.  His fingers itch as they run over the comforter and his toes are twiddling in his socks.  He tries to leave his face blank but his heart is thundering in his ears and his mind is drumming like heavy percussion in a Coldplay song.  He thinks of sneaking away, phoning up Harry and asking a million questions but he doesn’t.  He’s letting it settle as best as it can along his mind, lips twisted and his tongue is heavy against the roof of his mouth.

His thoughts do their worst because he’s letting them overtake everything and he doesn’t even catch the end of the film.  He’s chewing on the corner of his lip and everything’s straying toward the way Zayn _does_ smile his way sometimes and it’s not that Zayn treats him like complete shit.  But he knows better.  He’s a complete expert on games of the heart and he trusts his mind a little more than that thing beating impatiently against his chest.  He’s learned long ago not to trust it and, come on, it’s not like he and Zayn were even remotely close to each other.  It’s not as though Zayn has given him even the slightest hint that he even bothers with men in _that_ way and it’s like the coils around his heart are tightening.  He’s suffocating a little on the thoughts because, honestly, waking up to those brown eyes in the morning with thin, muscular arms wrapped around his waist and plush pink lips easing their way along his neck is utter bullshit.  It wouldn’t happen.

Yet, it’s a quite fantastic fantasy that Liam replays a couple of times on his way back to his flat that night.

**

Tuesday is a slower night and Liam’s thankful for that because Monday seems to be crowded with customers complaining about the first day back at work and most of them get pissed beyond their means.  Harry hates those nights and Liam has to drag him out of the kitchen a couple of times before Zoe chucks a butcher knife at his head.

Liam’s wiping down the bar when a shot glass slides his way, the liquid inside colorful and there’s a lemon wedge pressed onto the rim of the glass.  He glances up, Katy Perry blasting through the jukebox, and Zayn’s offering him a petite smile, arms folded over his chest.  Liam raises his brow but Zayn’s saying, “you look like you could use something to loosen up a bit,” before Liam can speak.

Liam can’t bite back the smile that slides over his lips and he thinks Zayn’s smile grows a little but he ignores it.  He examines the glass, the thick red liquid lining the bottom with a layer of yellow and clear above it.  He runs his thumb along the side of the glass, eyes peeking up through lashes to catch the way Zayn’s staring at him.  Heat surges his cheeks and his ears are burning.

“What is it?” Liam wonders, slowly turning the shot glass against the wooden surface of the bar.

“Something I put together.  Thought maybe you’d like the taste,” Zayn replies with a shrug and Liam tries not to wince.

“I can’t.”

“Sure you can.  I bought it with my own tips.  It’s not like you’re stealing or anything,” Zayn asserts, a genuineness in his expression that Liam’s never caught before.

“No, it’s not that,” Liam swears quickly and Zayn’s chewing on his thumbnail watching Liam, brow knit together with confusion flickering through his eyes.  Liam sighs, hesitance holding his tongue for a moment before continuing, “I’ve got one kidney.”

Zayn’s eyes go a little wide, brow lifting and Liam wants to crack his head along the bar.  He doesn’t mean to expose this much, let Zayn in like this but there was something so honest about his eyes, the way his lips twitched with excitement when Liam looked on him, and, really, something inside of him wanted to trust Zayn.

“It’s not a bother, really.  My other kidney gave out when I was a kid but I’ve kind of learned to live without it,” Liam says, a mild shrug as he looks on Zayn.  “And I sorted out, after a very bad experience during secondary school with some of the not-so-cool kids, that I can live without alcohol too.”

Zayn’s nodding and there’s a hint of glitter in his eyes as he steps forward and pinches the shot glass from Liam’s fingers.  There’s a moment when their hands touch and Liam wishes that electric that sparks through his veins wasn’t so sharp because now he’s watching Zayn like a Van Gough painting come to life.

“Hey Niall,” Zayn calls out and Niall’s sliding to his side like a puppy, smirking.  Zayn’s passing him the shot glass, wicked grin on his lips before saying, “Bottoms up.”

Niall salutes Liam before tapping the glass along the bar and downing it, tossing the lemon aside.  Zayn laughs and it’s so infectious that Liam can’t remove the smile circling his lips.  He crosses his arms and leans against the bar, eyes tilting down a little when Zayn looks on him with a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

Niall’s thumping a fist against his chest, howling before frowning on Zayn. He bellows out, “Oi, Malik, you know I don’t like the fruity shit.  Somebody get me a lager or something.  I need a pint!”

“You wanker, that was my own concoction,” Zayn barks back with a sneer.

“And a right fine mess it was,” Niall declares, giving Zayn a playful shove.

“Like that Irish car bomb you _forced_ me to drink that one night?” Zayn asks, eyebrows wagging and Niall’s turning red.  “It was all car and no bomb you twat.”

“You lot are going to drive me mad, I swear,” Niall snickers, eyes rolling when Zayn puts on a mock expression of pain.

Zayn’s laughing so hard his nose scrunches and Liam doesn’t know why he finds that ridiculously adorable.  He can see Harry watching him from across the room with a raised brow and wide eyes and, shit, he knows it’s becoming a little too evident. He gathers up his towel and turns to leave but there’s a hand laid on his shoulder and he’s glancing back at Zayn.  He doesn’t say anything but there’s a sweet, almost innocent smirk on Zayn’s lips and it must be the way the bar lights fall on Zayn in that moment because it’s haloing behind him and softening all of his features.  Liam bites down hard on his bottom lip, blush wrecking his cheeks and he’s sliding away, trying to burn away the way his shoulder is still warm from where Zayn’s hand was.

Later on, when he and Harry are back at their flat, he slumps into a shower and lets the hot water sear his skin.  His hands run down the back of his neck, try to massage away the knots and he’s letting water slip down his lips as he thinks about the way that smile fit against Zayn’s mouth.  He can hear Eleanor and Niall in his head and he hates the way his stomach fizzles with that feeling he’s done so well at avoiding.  He runs a hand over his chest and the tips of his fingers can still feel the way Zayn’s hand felt, smooth and soft.  He groans softly when he feels that warmness spread across his belly and his eyes roll when he feels himself getting hard, cock twitching and throbbing to be touched.  He doesn’t need to picture that mouth smiling against his skin as Zayn runs those hands over his chest, across his belly, just a little further down…

“Christ Payne, pull it together,” he whispers to himself, ducking his head under the trickling spray of water and he wishes desperately he and Harry could afford a nicer flat with a showerhead that actually sprayed that kind of water pressure that felt amazing against the body rather than flat and lifeless.  He bites down on his lip until the thoughts of Zayn swirl down the drain with the rest of the water and he hates that he thinks he tastes blood by the time he escapes the shower.

Harry curls up to him in his bed later on and Liam smiles, nuzzling his head back against Harry’s shoulder.  Liam can feel a couple of Harry’s curls against his forehead and smells that obscenely sweet smell of citrus shampoo Harry uses.  Harry’s thumb sweeps along the back of Liam’s hand and it’s so comforting that Liam almost misses when Harry says, “I’m not dim, Liam, and hope you know I’m always going to be your best mate, whether you are into women or want to snog a chap every once in a while.  If you fancy him, it’s okay.  Won’t tell a soul, but please be careful.  Relationships at that place never work out.”

Harry’s snoring against his neck twenty minutes later but Liam’s eyes are wide in the dark and he’s trying not to fidget.  He hadn’t thought about it; not fully.  It was just a crush, right?  There was nothing else to be done about it except Liam knows since he was four years old that once he’s focused on something, he goes for it.  There’s no relenting.  And maybe he hadn’t thought about this being just a friendship with Zayn like he should have.  Maybe he should have stuck to kind of hating Zayn because now there’s a symphony of thoughts concerning him drowning out Liam’s ability to relax and continue on that path he was _supposed_ to be walking.

**

Harry takes an earlier shift for Mr. Cowell on a Thursday and that leaves one less waiter to cover the steady flow of patrons that night.  Eleanor does her best to give Liam a hand but he doesn’t really need it.  He’s got a routine down now and even Zayn’s smiling at him as he wipes down a few tables before picking up a few drinks to lighten Nick’s load.  Perrie’s not incredibly impressed and doesn’t help him like Eleanor does when a rush hits but she does give him a smile and a wink when he brings her a tray for a couple of her tables.

“Is this guy not brilliant?” Niall asks loudly, arm around Liam’s waist as Liam wipes down his side of the bar and starts to fill the dishwasher with the stock of dirty mugs and glasses behind the bar.

Liam catches Zayn nodding, peppering smile dancing at the corners of Zayn’s lips and Liam wants that explosion of heat spreading from the center of his chest outward to subside.

“Oh Zayn,” Perrie sings sweetly, her voice husky but incredibly in tune and it sounds better than the shitty Taylor Swift song playing in the pub at the moment.

“Vas happenin’,” Zayn chimes, leaning forward on the bar when Perrie sidles up, dropping an empty tray onto the bar.  Her hair is platinum blonde today and Liam can’t deny her blue eyes are sort of like diamonds against the tone of her skin.

“Babe, I need two glasses of gin and three halves,” Perrie sighs, batting long, fake lashes and Zayn’s biting on his bottom lip with that smile that rivals the sun in the middle of August.  He’s nodding, bouncing away and Liam nearly has to jump from behind the bar to get out of Zayn’s way.

“Always getting your way, eh Per?” Louis asks from his stool at the corner of the bar, swirling his stirrer around in his iced down pineapple and rum drink.

“What can I say Lou? He loves me and I adore him,” Perrie chimes, flicking her hair backward.

“Love,” Louis repeats slowly, intent laced into every piece of the word before glaring past her to where Harry’s seated on the other side of the bar, chatting with Niall, smile spread across his cheeks.  He watches Harry drop a shot glass into a mug of beer and down it with Niall, both hooting and slapping hands as they finish.

“One day my poor Lou; one day,” Perrie says and it almost sounds a bit condescending, the way she pats the back of Louis hand before sauntering off.

“You think so?” Louis asks and it takes Liam a second to get that the question is directed toward him.

Liam smiles shyly, scooping up a glass of ice before filling it with water.  He inches it toward Louis, dropping three cherries into it with a smirk.  Louis’ beaming back at him.

“I think we all deserve what we want at some point in our lives,” Liam notes, wiping his hands along his black apron.

“Hmm,” Louis hums, sipping on the water.  He feathers fingers over his hair, nodding briskly.  “Damn right we do.  I fucking deserve the world for the shit I’ve sorted through.  In fact, I feel quite all right with the idea of getting everything I deserve sooner rather than later.”

Liam’s chuckling, wiping down some glasses before setting them on the rubber mat near the display of garnishes.  He slings his towel over his shoulder and listens to Louis ramble, grins through most of it all because he genuinely enjoys Louis’ company.  Louis was wild, a bit off his trolley, but nothing that Liam didn’t find weird or annoying.  And it wasn’t as if they ever really held much of a conversation because Louis was usually too busy having a chat with Zayn or gaping at Harry or having a row with Niall about some shitty television programme that Liam’s never seen but is certain it’s nothing of value.

“I need a round for the most ace set of friends a guy could have,” Harry announces, standing up a little wobbly and Eleanor is giggling as she sidles up to the bar, easing an arm around Louis’ shoulder.  Liam tries not to give her a look, peeking his eyes back at Harry who’s tossing twenty or thirty quid on the bar.

Harry’s pointing down the bar and Liam follows his dazed gaze toward Louis before Harry’s adding, “And whatever the nice gentleman down there is having is on me because he’s quite a catch for always making me feel smashing.”

Eleanor nearly chokes on a laugh and Zayn’s snorting, rubbing at the back of his neck as redness flushes Louis’ neck, cheeks, and ears.  Liam licks out a grin, nodding toward Louis and Louis’ silenced for the first time since Liam’s known him.

Niall’s pumping a fist into the air with a shout and Zayn’s passing out mugs of Cider for Harry and Eleanor, a shot of rum is sliding toward Louis while Zayn cracks open two bottles with a bottle cap opener.  He holds one out for Liam and Liam looks on him nervously.

“Zayn, you know I —“

“Its root beer,” Zayn says with a grin and relief is taffy-stuck against Liam’s skin.  He takes it, fingers brushing accidentally over Zayn’s but Zayn’s smiling sideways as Liam pulls the bottle away.  He lets Zayn clink the neck of their bottles together and his heart is dancing a little like the flame of a candle, dripping wax down his insides.

“Thanks,” Liam says, his voice a bit low and he’s biting just along the edge of his bottom lip.

“I remembered,” Zayn assures, taking a slow swallow of his Corona.  Liam doesn’t fight the way he glares at Zayn while he drinks, the way his lips wrap around the neck of that bottle and it was in no way intended to be sexual but, my God, Liam can’t help the way that it kind of is.  He has to swallow nearly half of his root beer when Zayn grins at him, perfectly set eyebrows and long black lashes; Liam’s wishing he had someplace he needed to be in that moment.

“Can’t afford for you to end up in the hospital now can we?  Quite sure I’d be miserable about that,” Zayn says freely, another lick of his tongue over the bottle as he’s swallowing down the beer.

Liam forces himself to turn his eyes away from him and blush ripples over his skin when catches Eleanor looking, smiling at him from behind her mug of cider.  He groans softly, shaking his head as he takes another swig of his root beer.  His head is hot, skin freckling with goosebumps and he feels the weight of the universe against his shoulders.

Later on, after they’ve closed up, Liam finds Harry sitting alone at one of the tables, swirling the last few drops of something around in a mug.  Niall’s quite pissed by now, hanging over the bar and shouting Irish nonsense that Eleanor balks at and Nick ignores.  Perrie’s smiling at Zayn from across the bar, leaning forward and Zayn’s just grinning, cleaning off the last of the glasses.  Liam sighs inwardly, tries not to gawk at them because, even if he hasn’t asked, he knows there’s something there.  And Harry’s been a bit hushed about it when Liam drops hints and even Eleanor avoids the topic, waving him off because “You’re striking mad Liam Payne.  There’s nothing there for you to go on about, okay?  Get your arse back to work.”

But Liam doesn’t consider himself a fool and, honestly, the way Zayn’s eyes light up every time she sways her hips or bounds up to the bar, it’s kind of undeniable.  Not that it matters because Liam’s sort of decided having any sort of feeling for Zayn outside of a friendly one wouldn’t be healthy and the thought’s kind of stuck pretty well for the last hour of service.

Liam eases into the empty chair next to Harry, settling his legs up onto Harry’s lap.  Harry looks up, eyes a little dreary and Liam feels the concern syncopating along his system.  He lays a hand over Harry’s, leaning forward some.

“What’s wrong?”

Harry swallows a few times, nodding as if to give himself courage and Liam feels sick looking at his friend.  He’s only seen this once or twice when Harry’s had to get over some unrealistic crush on someone or when his mother was really sick with the flu that one week while they traded off shifts at the bakery.

“I think,” Harry halts and Liam can see him piecing together the words in his big green eyes before he starts, “I definitely think I might, quite possibly have a thing for that Louis Tomlinson.”

“You fancy Louis?”

“Yes,” Harry blurts out.

“Like you want to _date_ him?” Liam wonders, trying to slowly put it all together but it feels weird dancing around in his mind.

“Bloody hell, yes Li.  I _like_ him.  Want to date him.  Snog him.  Fuck, I might even fancy shagging him on the floor of our damn flat if the opportunity presented itself,” Harry slurs out and he’s trying to drink that last bit of amber colored alcohol in his cup but it just slides down his lips and chin.

Liam’s eyes go a little wide, pupils blown and he’s scratching along the side of his head.  Harry’s face is like a house of cards set afire and Liam merely rubs his fingers along Harry’s knuckles for comfort.

“Okay,” Liam drags out, letting confusion thunder against his mind like the Robyn tune playing overhead.  “Is that a bad thing?”

“It’s fucking _idiotic_ Li.  Louis?  Are you fucking _mad?_   What kind of twat am I to even consider liking that loon?” Harry asks a little too loudly and Nick’s looking over at them with a grin while Eleanor shakes her head.  Harry leans in, eyes a bit desperate and Liam tries not to laugh when Harry adds, “The guy looks like he rolled around in a bucket of paint and he’s so brilliantly annoying.  I mean, come on, what am I thinking?  Christ, he’s way too happy for me and –“

“And you both love football.  You’re both actually very nice when you want to be and way too hyper when you _don’t_ need to be,” Liam notes, a finger raised to emphasize his point.  He grins when Harry scoffs.  “And you’re way too happy sometimes too Haz.  I think maybe this is a good thing.”

“How?” Harry asks incredulously, hands thrown up in defeat.

“Because you need something like this in your life.  Somebody who makes you feel good about yourself and makes you feel… different, I suppose,” Liam declares and Harry’s eyes are rolling before he even finishes.

“I need a bloody shrink,” Harry slurs out and Liam knows Harry’s had too much to drink.  He merely pats Harry’s shoulder comfortingly when Harry drops his head into his hands, groaning dramatically.

“You’re daft,” Liam laughs out.

“And you’re an arse,” Harry mumbles, looking up and shrinking at the way Liam glares at him.  He ducks his head back into his hands, releasing another strained groan and Liam shakes his head, eyes diverting to where Perrie’s trickling purple-painted nails across the back of Zayn’s hand.  He feels a sigh build in his chest but then Zayn’s looking up, nervous eyes losing that inescapable confidence he usually carries.

Liam does his best to smile but it comes out as a half-gnawed frown and he can hear Robyn thumping in his head: _I’m in the corner watching you kiss her. I’m right over here, why can’t you see me?_

**

“So I’ve been thinking,” Harry starts as he hops onto the counter in the kitchen.  He sneaks a few carrots from a plate Zoe has prepared and nearly loses an arm when he reaches for another because Zoe’s swatting him with a spatula this time.

“Thinking doesn’t suit you,” Liam teases, lining up a few bowls of chowder on a tray.  He has to admit that Mr. Cowell’s idea of pub grub varies immensely to the other pubs in the area.

“Do you think your mum will miss you much if I bury you beneath the London Bridge?” Harry asks with a sneer, shaking a baby carrot at Liam.

Liam rolls his eyes, avoiding lining spoons onto the tray because, yeah, his fear of them was leaving his hands shaking and he has to wipe the sweat from his palms against his apron three times before Harry’s finally tossing the spoons onto the tray and pushing it away from Liam.

“You were saying?” Liam says with a huff, looking back up to Harry.

“I was thinking… Well actually, Lou and I were thinking,” Harry begins again but Liam’s shooting him a look of disbelief, lips twisting sideways against his face.

“Lou?”

“Yeah, yeah.  He and I have talked, several times.  Think he likes when I call him Lou.  And I may or not have asked him if maybe he’d like to grab a cup of tea sometime,” Harry confesses but it all comes out so nonchalantly that Liam doesn’t press Harry.  He knows better because Harry’s stories usually last hours and Liam needs to get back out to the main area to bus a few tables for Perrie before she loses her cool. Not that he cares if she does or doesn’t.

“Congratulations.  What were you lot thinking?” Liam finally asks, stealing that dreamy expression that’s managed to waif itself across Harry’s face.

“Right, _we_ were wondering if you’re ever going to ask me anything about Zayn?” Harry questions, leering at Liam for a long time but Liam’s mouth is open and he’s brow is wrinkling.

“Excuse me?”

“Come on Li,” Harry sighs, pushing off the counter and lifting the tray for Liam.  He nudges his hip into Liam’s harshly, eyes rolling.  “You can’t tell me you don’t fancy him.  I see it all the time and, as your best mate, feel a bit hurt you won’t just ask me to get you two together or something.”

“Get us what?” Liam asks with a hiss and he’s glad they’re still in the kitchen because he doesn’t want half the pub looking at him right now with his cheeks burnt sierra and his hands balled into fists.

“Do you like him?” Harry inquires, spinning on his heels back toward Liam and the tray doesn’t even tilt.

“No,” Liam replies flatly and he knows it’s a lie.

“Fucking bullshit, Liam Payne.  He and Louis are great friends and I’ve known him long enough.  Not sure what he’s really into but I’m almost certain he’s pretty open to new things,” Harry chimes and that grin on Harry’s lips needs to be sliced off.  “Want me to set up a date?  Find out his favorite color?  What he likes in bed?”

“Harry, shut it,” Liam growls, nudging past Harry and part of him wishes those bowls of soup slipped off the tray and spilled all across those perfect curls.

His eyes catch Zayn’s the minute he’s back in the main portion of the pub, warming smile spreading across Zayn’s face and Liam wants to run away from it all.  He merely sighs, grumbling something and moving in the opposite direction.  He can’t handle that gentle curve of Zayn’s mouth, the way everything about him now is so warm and inviting.  He doesn’t want to succumb to any of this because, damn Harry and Louis, he’s _not_ interested.  He doesn’t want to settle for the hurt that’ll come when Zayn turns out to be _nothing_ like what he envisions late at night when he’s by himself wishing Zayn was there with gentle arms holding him through sleepless nights.  He wants the Zayn he knew when he first started; the one that made him feel less of a person and more of an invisible part of the world.

“There’s a party of five looking for a table and…” Perrie starts but Liam’s already throwing up a waving hand, passing her almost dismissively as he snatches up his towel and tub.

“Got it,” he says flatly, moving to clear off a few tables before she can add anything else.  He avoids Harry’s stares or the way Louis tries to grab his attention when he comes to the bar to drop off a few empty glasses.  He needs space, air but none of it is available and not even the coolness of Ed’s voice and strumming guitar as he makes a miracle out of Pink Floyd’s “Wish You Were Here” distracts him enough for the pounding in his head.

It’s later on when his head clears a little, too busy with the open mic night rush to pay attention to anything other than clearing tables, getting dishes washed, picking up a few snacks for Niall, and trying not to break a sweat while running from the kitchen to the floor.  He misses Perrie wailing her way through a rendition of “You Oughta Know” but he catches her friends Jesy and Leigh-Anne cheering her on like maniacs when she escapes the makeshift stage.  He gives her a nod and a smile when she passes but she rushes up to the bar to grab a water from Zayn and Liam’s still avoiding his gaze when he feels it leaning his way.

“Well ladies and gents, we’ve got a newcomer making his way to the stage next,” Niall announces from the stage, grinning toward Liam and bewilderment and nerves fall over him too quickly.

A hand rests on his shoulder and Liam’s jerking at the touch, glaring at Harry.  He shakes his head because, no, Harry wouldn’t.  But then there’s that mischievous smirk Harry wears like a brand new suit and he’s almost whispering, “Sorry mate, but I thought this would be good for you.  Don’t be mad at me.”

“I already am,” Liam is hissing out but the desire to punch Harry is fleeting when Niall’s voice continues.

“Please welcome to the stage an all-around brilliant chap and, ladies, he’s quite a fit lad…”

“Please don’t make me kill you,” Liam begs, worry cocooning him as he looks on Harry.

“First degree murder isn’t what your mum sent you here for, now is it Li?” Harry wonders, head tilting with a sincere look on his face.  Liam thinks his mum would be forgiving if she knew the circumstances.

“It’s our very own Liam Payne,” Niall finishes, a small round of applause following and Louis is whistling from his place at the end of the bar.

Harry’s practically dragging Liam toward the stage, Liam doing his best to hide the way his nerves are getting the better of him and how much he really hates Harry because, in this moment, he thinks he’s truly understanding the meaning of that word but then Niall’s passing him the mic with that irresistible beam on his face.  He snatches the mic away, knows Niall has something to do with this as well.  Niall’s patting his shoulder sympathetically and the music starts before Liam’s taken it all in, bleary spotlight on him and most of the eyes of the pub are watching him.

Liam’s smiling a little when he starts to put together the piano thrumming from the karaoke machine, knows the song oh too well and he despises that he grins in Harry’s direction, the other man’s fist pumping in the air with an arm slung around Niall’s shoulders.

When Liam starts, ‘ _hold up, hold on_ ,’ Louis barking out, “Yeah Liam, come on!” and Eleanor is grinning sickeningly while hanging on Louis.  He can hear the encouragement from the crowd and it’s just enough for him to close his eyes and dip into the song like he hasn’t in years.  All of the backing track, symphony and all, envelopes him and he tries to remember the first time he sung the Oasis’ song; when one of his exes broke up over the phone rather than in person.  And he remembers the last time he heard it: about ten minutes after leaving his parents’ house with Harry and the whole thing kind of swallows him.

Liam’s fingers shake and his voice reaches for the right note when his eyes blink open.  Some of the patrons are on their feet, cheering him, and Harry’s screaming in that incessant way that pulls a little laugh and grin from Liam while Niall downs a shot with Ed.  Louis’ got an arm slung around Eleanor’s waist, both bobbing back and forth like the crest of a wave in the ocean.  Liam’s eyes search for just a moment, just behind the bar and he falls a little out of place when caramel brown eyes are on him: _Zayn_.

The words come out and he thinks he’s in tune but it all kind of drifts away when that smile on Zayn’s lips stains itself against his memory.  He can’t take his eyes away, not yet, and Zayn’s biting a little on his bottom lip but that smile doesn’t fade.  He catches Perrie trying to grab Zayn’s attention, waving at him and shouting a little but Zayn doesn’t even flinch and it’s the right kind of shock to Liam’s system.  His knees dip a little, soul reaching through the song like a ghost slipping over skin, and Zayn’s tilting his head and, _fuck_ , he looks endearing for the first time.  Liam lets the lyrics inch gently down his body, emotion be damned, and almost every piece of him wants to run off that stage and sing every word to Zayn: _‘cause all of the stars are fading away. Just try not to worry, you’ll see them someday_.

He’s almost relieved when it’s all over, stumbling off stage and strangers are patting him on the back, offering him drinks, and he’s just shyly scratching at the side of his buzzed head and tripping towards the bar.  Eleanor’s hugging him around the neck and he’s choking on a laugh while looking on Harry, nodding as Harry grins.  Niall’s already pouring up shots and passing Liam a lemonade.

Liam does his best to bypass that tug at his heart because he’s searching behind, around, almost through the bar for one lone face but it’s not there.  He glances over his shoulder, spots Zayn slipping into the kitchen with a cigarette already dangling from his mouth and a sigh holds itself steady against Liam’s lips.  He inhales deep and turns back to the others, sipping on the lemonade as they continue to praise him, part of him just wanting to roll over and forget the night.

**

Harry has the weekend off and Liam doesn’t even know how he forgets because all week Harry’s been counting down the days after each shift like it was the holidays.  Harry would go on about planning something with Louis, maybe going to the cinema, but Liam was usually too knackered after one of their shifts to pay him much attention, even falling asleep at their dinner table mid-story.

But it all comes back to him when the Saturday rush hits and he’s scrambling to assist the others as much as possible.  He curses Harry’s name at least once or twice when clearing off a few tables for Perrie but he’s more than a little thankful when Niall hops from behind the bar to snatch up a few dirty glasses and steal Liam’s towel to clean off some of the tables near the back.

Liam’s too busy to even notice Zayn helping him too this time until he’s at the bar picking up a tray of drinks for one of Eleanor’s tables and Zayn’s hand gently rests on top of his, leaning forward to whisper, “Slow down.  It’ll get done.  Don’t hurt yourself Liam.”

Liam looks up, head cocked to the side and those chocolate eyes are almost copper in the light.  He swallows hard, nodding, and really he wants to say something else but Nick’s calling for him and Niall’s getting overwhelmed at the bar.  But Zayn’s hand lingers a little longer and it’s like cool ice against Liam’s feverish body.

Apparently Liam’s too busy that night to even notice the dozens of patrons who come in shaking off water or closing their umbrellas but it all sets in sometime after midnight when Liam’s stepping outside and rain prickles against the top of his head.  He sort of hates when Harry’s working another shift or off because, most times, that means he’s either bumming a ride from Eleanor, trying to catch one of the buses, or has to walk home.  Eleanor’s shift ended a little early and he’s almost certain by the way she and Niall have been trading glances as of late that she’s crashing at his flat tonight.  It’s too late to catch a bus on the route to his flat and he considers catching a cab, but he has just enough tips from the night to help him almost reach his goal for a car.

He sighs heavily, watching the rain fall just a little harder, pelting off the cars as they buzz by and there’s really no cover over the entrance to the pub; he’s almost soaked in minutes when he steps out.  He has to wipe his hand over his face several times just to slick away the rain getting in his eyes and he’s certain now he wants to strangle Harry when he sees him later.

It’s not exactly cold outside but Liam’s shivering a little because the water’s cool and his feet are soaked in his shoes and he desperately wishes the sun was out to warm his back as the rain slips down his face and over his bare arms.  He stays close to the buildings as he walks, avoiding the splashes of dirty water from the cars riding a little too close to the sidewalks.  He can’t walk fast enough and, he’s kind of certain, he hasn’t even made it that far from Cowell’s.

“Liam!”

The voice unsettles him a little bit and he doesn’t want to turn around because he’s dripping wet, embarrassed and he’s quite certain that he looks incredibly knackered but that voice calls for him again and he’s dropping his arms to his side, whirling around with his fists clenched at his sides.  Liam thinks the rain is lightening a little or he might be delusional but Zayn looks almost striking in the rain.  His hair has fallen and the drops of rain slice and maneuver over his defined cheeks beautifully, the street lights outling his face in gold’s and yellows.

Liam gapes at him, doesn’t have the words to say but Zayn’s pulling off that letterman jacket and holding it up above both of them, stepping way too close to Liam but Liam refuses to back away, thankful for any escape from the drenching rain.

“Are you _walking_ to your flat?” Zayn asks, brow pulled together and Liam can barely look at him.

“Yeah,” Liam says lowly, tapping his foot in a small puddle.

Zayn shoots him a puzzled look and, damn it, Liam wishes he would’ve just kept walking when Zayn called to him.  He sighs, trying to use the back of his hand to wipe away the lingering drops of rain but it’s not really helping.

“It’s okay, really.  I don’t live _that_ far and I don’t mind, honestly,” Liam breathes out but he can see the doubt in Zayn’s eyes.

“But its pouring Liam,” Zayn whispers slowly and that concern that hitches onto Zayn’s words makes Liam’s stomach tight.

Liam chuckles, nodding but he just wants to walk, clear his thoughts, think of interesting ways to chop off Harry’s locks of hair while he sleeps.  He shivers a little, in a good way, when Zayn lifts a hand, thumb sliding down Liam’s cheek to wipe away some of the rain.  He tries but can’t fight the smile that curves over his lips when Zayn smiles at him.

“Oi, Zaynie, you want that ride to your flat or not?” Perrie calls out, peeking her blue hair out of the entrance to the pub and Liam peeks over Zayn’s shoulder to catch the way she watches them.  A frown starts to set itself against his mouth but then Zayn’s calling back, “No, Per.  Think I’m gonna trek it with Liam,” and Liam feels that aching smile pressed against his lips again.

“In the rain?” Perrie wonders and her voice sounds a little small, annoyed.

“Yep,” Zayn says but Liam doesn’t really think she hears him.  Zayn’s grin is mirroring Liam’s and that bitterness that resided so evenly against Liam’s heart seems to be falling away like those discarded drops of rain.

The rain slows and then stops midway through their walk.  They don’t say much, at least Zayn doesn’t.  Liam’s not good with silence, not always, and he’s talking about Harry and Louis, the way he loves chatting with Eleanor, shares a laugh with Zayn about the drinks Niall’s created – a Irish Train Wreck that Liam’s certain is going to give someone alcohol poisoning.  Liam falls in love with the way Zayn laughs and he’s stopped worrying about how close they’ve been walking because Zayn was doing his best to shield them from the rain with his jacket lifted over both of them.

Liam kicks a few pebbles over the road when the rain goes silent and he’s barely noticing Zayn lowering his jacket until the mist starts to coat his cheeks.  He bites down lightly on his bottom lip, glancing at Zayn but the other man is shaking the rain off his jacket and Liam’s unprepared when Zayn slides the jacket around Liam’s shoulders, fitting it perfectly over Liam’s broad shoulders and Liam’s arching his eyebrow.

“You were shivering earlier,” Zayn says a little offhandedly, a shy smile fermenting against his slightly chapped pink lips.

Liam bites on the tip of his tongue, watches the way Zayn looks away, long black lashes curling against his cheeks and Liam’s balking at the way suddenly he wants to kiss Zayn’s cheek, thank him.  He merely adjusts the jacket around his shoulders but doesn’t bother to walk further from Zayn now that there wasn’t an excuse to hide from the rain.  He lets his breath catch when Zayn’s hand brushes his a few times and, luck be damned, he dies a little when Zayn does look on him again, quiet and undeniably thoughtful with his expression.

They cross a few more streets, joking about the way Harry used to hate Louis and Zayn tells Liam a story about the time Louis tried to work at the pub but nearly dumped a tray of water on a rowdy table of guys who kept asking about his suspenders.  Liam doesn’t know why he reaches up and brushes a few dark, damp strands of hair from Zayn’s forehead but Zayn doesn’t seem to mind, nudging Liam’s side with his elbow and a colorful smirk.  It’s the first time Liam notices the blonde streak faded against Zayn’s dark hair or the way his cheeks are clean shaven.  He trains his eyes on Zayn’s nose and the smoothness of his eyebrows, tracing his eyes along the way Zayn licks his lips constantly, the way there’s small dimples just at the corners of Zayn’s mouth when he smiles.  There’s an amber tone to Zayn’s skin when its slick like this and his lips seem to quirk up when talking about how nice he thought Liam was those first few days he started working at the pub.  Everything about the way he moves, the ease and smoothness that Liam wishes he could have half of the time; it’s all a little secret that Zayn keeps and Liam wants Zayn to whisper how he does it.

“This isn’t too far from your place, is it?” Liam wonders, darting his eyes away from Zayn because he knows he’s gawking, staring too hard at all of the little things that make up Zayn Malik.

Zayn shrugs, dragging a hand through his hair to slick it backward.  “Figure Louis’ probably at your flat with Harry.  I can bum a ride back from him.”

Liam nods, grins a little because he’s probably right – Louis will most likely be there and he hopes that he and Harry have at least made it to Harry’s bedroom rather than fornicating all over that cheap, shag throw rug Harry bought at the market when they first moved in.  Another piece of him is smiling thinking about asking Zayn to stay, sit him with on the couch and drink tea, watch the telly, and maybe they’d end up holding hands or doing something deliberately filthy like Liam giving Zayn a blowjob right on that couch.

“This it?” Zayn inquires and Liam stumbles out of his dirty thoughts, looks up to where they’re stopped in front of an old brick building and nothing about it says upscale but it’s just enough for he and Harry to survive in.

Liam nods in Zayn’s direction, starts to slip the jacket off of his shoulders but Zayn stops him, fixes it back so comfortably on Liam’s body.

“Keep it.  I’ve got a few at my flat,” Zayn assures him, tepid smile working its way over his lips.

Liam nods again, prays Zayn can’t see that faint carnation hue coloring his cheeks in the dim light of the night.  Zayn’s chewing softly on his lower lip and his hands are at his sides, eyes looking up through long lashes.  It’s almost angelic and Liam never thought he’d think of Zayn that way; not in the least bit.

“Want me to send Louis down?” Liam asks and he’s certain that wasn’t the right way to ask someone up for some tea and maybe a blowjob, but the right words aren’t within his reach.

Zayn nods slowly, a winking grin on his lips.  “It’s late.”

“Yeah, it is,” Liam agrees, throat almost strangled shut by nerves and he was reading too much into Zayn’s kindness, he’s sure.  What makes him think Zayn truly wanted anything more from him?  Maybe he was just a nice guy and wouldn’t that be smashing?  Zayn Malik was just a genuine bloke without the slightest interest in Liam other than this run-around-the-playground friendship they’ve been tiptoeing around like six year olds.

“I’ll wait down here for him,” Zayn says, pulling a perfectly rolled cigarette from his jeans and Liam’s not even sure how it’s not damp like the rest of Zayn but then Zayn’s flicking a flame from his lighter and taking a deep drag.

“Right.  I’ll get him.  Louis.  Send him down,” Liam says brokenly, kicking himself as Zayn snorts, nodding and turning his back to Liam.

Liam swallows his sigh until he steps into his flat, back pressed to his closed door, and he drops his head a little.  Harry’s singing in the kitchen and Liam can smell the fresh scent of fajitas while Louis sits shirtless on their couch, legs folded beneath him while giggling at some old programme on the television.

Liam drags a hand over his face, avoids Louis stare when he sloshes past, shoes squeaking against the floor.

“Hazza, we’ve got company,” Louis calls out, still watching Liam but Liam waves him off, finally breathing out that sigh.

“Zayn’s downstairs.  Needs a ride back to his flat.  Goodnight,” Liam says, his words clipped and he hates that he glares at Harry when he passes, lip curling at the way Harry’s standing with his curls pulled back and disheveled with nothing but sweats that are hanging off his hips, bare skin telling Liam there’s no underwear underneath.

He’s happy for Harry really, Louis too, but he doesn’t want to think about it.  He doesn’t need a hero to come rescue him, at least that’s what he tells himself, but then he falls onto his bed, damp clothes still clinging to his body, he’s afraid to admit that maybe he does.

**

He spends most of the rest of the weekend avoiding Harry but that doesn’t work too well because he can never really be mad at Harry, though he’s tried quite a few times.  They’re giggling and pissing around by Tuesday night, playfully shoving each other in the kitchen and they’re both stealing food when Zoe isn’t looking.  He leans on the brick wall behind the pub for a while, listening to Harry go on and on about the way Louis looks and their first kiss right after going to see some new movie at the cinema while taking out the trash.  He has to admit it’s a little cute when Harry blushes talking about holding Louis’ hand the whole day Sunday while they walked the streets and he can’t help but bite down on his bottom lip when Harry admits he’s glad he sorted everything out and Liam doesn’t hate him.

“You’re my best mate Harry, how could I?” Liam asks before they’re sliding back in and there’s a warm sensation spreading over Liam’s body when Harry ducks his head with dimples pronounced, terrific grin spreading perfectly red lips, and Harry’s sliding an arm around Liam’s shoulders with adoring green eyes looking down on him.

They’re all pitching in to clean up after the rowdy crowd from the night.  Eleanor’s clearing off the last few tables while Harry gathers up all the dirty plates and silverware.  Zayn’s behind the bar clinking the last few glasses into the dishwasher and Liam’s mopping around a few tables in the center of the room.  Niall’s kicking at the jukebox in the corner and when it clicks on, bright neon lights beaming, he grins and fumbles through a few selections before clicking on one.

Liam leans on the handle of the mop when the opening to the song sweeps through the pub: _Oh my love, my darling; I’ve hungered for your touch a long, lonely time_.  He catches the way everyone looks up, small smiles dancing across faces and Harry’s laughing.  The Righteous Brothers are sweeping through the pub and Liam’s tingling with a giddiness he hasn’t touched in so long.  It’s all so silly that it couldn’t be nothing but Niall but he’s dancing around everyone, Christmas-like grin plastered to his lips and Zayn’s nodding, pounding on the bar.

It was the only classic song buried in that jukebox’s selection because, as Liam found out from Eleanor one night, it was Mr. Cowell’s favorite song, period.  And Liam can remember his mother’s tears sliding down her cheeks like streams of a waterfall one late night, an untouched bowl of popcorn in her lap, as she looked on Demi Moore and Patrick Swayze.  He doesn’t think he’s ever seen all of _Ghost_ but he knows what this song does to his mum, what it does to most people, and he’s throwing a hand over his mouth to cover a laugh when Niall slides up next to Harry, arms around each other’s as they begin to bellow out the song, loud and unabashed.

Harry’s hopping up on the bar, crooning like this was what he was meant to do; he was meant to _own_ the room with his voice, his looks, his presence.  Niall’s doing a slow slide across the floor, still matching Harry’s voice with his own until he’s in front of Eleanor, smiling pathetically and she’s got wide eyes, giggling helplessly.  But then Niall’s reaching out to her with a hand and Liam’s brow is rising, trying not to gawk but really?  Niall’s grabbing her hand and pulling her close, hands locked with her other arm draped around his neck while he holds her hip with his free hand.

Liam’s biting gently on his knuckle but Harry’s egging them on, still swirling with the lyrics of the song as Niall dances Eleanor around a few of the tables.  There’s still a goofiness about the way Niall does all of it but there’s a sincerity hidden just beneath the surface of those crystalline blue eyes and Eleanor is actually looking on him with a sweet adoration like honey drizzled on top of freshly stacked pancakes.  It’s something out of one of those movies his sister makes him watch where the goofy kid gets the girl at some formal dance and Liam laughs to himself because, really, Niall _deserved_ the girl this time.

“Come on,” Liam hears and there’s a hand on his wrist, pulling him forward and Harry’s still on the bar with wide eyes on Liam now, a tinge of worry before an expanding grin settles on his lips as he belts: _I need your love_.  Liam’s stumbling a little as Zayn leads him, _tugs_ him toward the center of the floor and Liam’s hesitant to let the mop go but he does when Zayn links their fingers together and pulls him closer.

Liam can’t hide the confusion melted into his expression but Zayn’s managed to pull Liam completely to him now, stronger than he looks, and they’re slowly moving along the floor with fingers tangled together and Zayn’s got an arm around Liam’s waist, grinning.  Liam takes in a deep breath and tries to relax, finds it impossible to do when Zayn softens his smile and doesn’t let up his gaze into Liam’s eyes.  They’re moving in a small circle and there’s a point where he spots Eleanor over Zayn’s shoulder and she’s smiling, fucking beaming at him like they’re both where they’re supposed to be.  It unnerves him in a fantastic way and he finally settles into the dance, rests his chin on Zayn’s shoulder and lets Zayn spin them through the room with subtle ease.

“Couldn’t let Niall upstage me, yeah?” Zayn whispers and the softness of his voice against the lobe of Liam’s ear is something he never wants to forget.

“Feels… uhm, nice,” Liam says and he hopes he isn’t imaging Zayn’s hand tightening on the small of his back after he says the words.  He sighs contently, his own hand running up Zayn’s back before he adds, “Feels really nice.”

“El looks happy,” Zayn notes.

Liam chuckles lowly, eyes closing for a moment as he says, “Niall’s lucky she isn’t catching on that he’s a complete klutz.  Think he’s got two left feet.”

“ _I_ can’t dance,” Zayn snickers and they’re nearly hitting a table but Liam’s still letting Zayn lead.

“You’re doing fine,” Liam insists, turning them a little to avoid the bucket of dirty water still sitting in the middle of the floor.

“I doubt it,” Zayn scoffs with a little bit of a defeated tone.

Liam smiles, taking a little bit of the lead to guide Zayn in the right direction.  “So you’re _not_ perfect?”

“Who said I was?” Zayn asks with little hesitance, pulling back some to look on Liam.

Liam shrugs.  “Nobody.  I did, kinda.  I’m a bloody idiot.  Don’t worry about it.”

Zayn’s lips twist a little and Liam’s once again kicking himself but Zayn licks out a smile before leaning a little closer, foreheads nearly touching as he whispers “You could teach me, yeah?  I wouldn’t mind, you know, learning from you.”

“I could—“

“Sorry gents, but do you mind if I cut in?” Perrie asks, tapping Liam’s shoulder and Liam’s shaken, jerking back from Zayn quickly.  She’s offering him a puppy dog look and part of him wonders if she’s faking it so well nobody but him could see through it.

Liam runs his fingertips over the top of his hair, plays with the longer pieces as he swallows, feels Niall and Eleanor’s eyes on him and Zayn.  He’s nervous all over again and Perrie’s shooting him a quizzical glare that leaves him a bit weak and unwilling.  He nods in her vicinity, curses himself for even forgetting that she had been in the kitchen all this time helping Zoe and Ed clean up.  She’s grinning, sliding into his place in Zayn’s arm and they dance a little closer, more purposeful than he and Zayn.  She’s got her arms slung over his shoulders, head on his chest and Liam bites down hard on the inside of his mouth, easing back.

Harry’s voice is carrying, bleeding through his ears now and he’s trying not to shut down.  He drags the bucket and the mop toward the back, doesn’t even search the room for Zayn’s eyes just as Harry and Niall sing out: _And time can do so much; are you still mine?_

**

Sunday nights are usually the most relaxing for him because the pub closes earlier and he’s usually back at their flat a little after eight.  Niall managed to get the day off, spending most of the morning playing a round of football with Liam and some younger kids down at the park near their flat, and it’s Perrie who’s behind the bar with Zayn most of the evening covering for Niall.  She’s not nearly as popular as Niall, not that Liam’s noticed, but she’s good at flirting with most of the guys and Liam’s expression is a little pinched at the way Zayn almost looks annoyed most of the time.

He’s far too busy to pay much attention to Zayn though and, really, he’s hoping all of his hard work pays off soon because he’s now covering tables for Harry and Eleanor while still doing his own duties.  He’s a little sweatier and knackered after service every night, but he knows Cher’s watching when she’s there and maybe, just maybe, he’ll move out of this barback thing and into a waiter position before this summer thing ends.  Not that he entirely needs to because that probably means just a little less time behind the bar joking with Niall and being two steps away from Zayn who seems kinder and funnier and genuinely helpful toward Liam anytime he appears.

Liam’s eyes are heavy and his feet are kicked up on the ratty old coffee table in the middle of the living area, sliding through text messages from his mum when Harry plops down next to him on the couch, hand instinctively running over Liam’s head.  Liam sighs, body too exhausted to do anything but grunt toward Harry while he keeps his eyes on his phone.

“You might want to shower,” Harry suggests, his voice low and deep and Liam turns his nose up at that sweet smell of Harry’s shampoo.

“Too tired,” Liam moans, head falling back and Harry’s long fingers are massaging the muscles of his neck now, peeling away some of the tension from his body.  He sighs slowly before turning toward Harry.  “You probably used up all the hot water anyway.”

“Still,” Harry sings out, floppy grin on his lips as he finishes, “you don’t want to smell rank and like the pub when everyone gets here.”

Liam’s eyebrows kick up, eyes a little too wide because Harry’s snickering.  Liam’s pinching Harry’s thigh, repeating “The guys?”

“I invited Louis over, who invited Niall, who invited Zayn and, yeah, the guys,” Harry says, almost fluorescent green eyes searching Liam’s face for understanding but Liam just stares at him blankly.

“No,” Liam says slowly.

“Yeah,” Harry says even slower.

“No.”

“Yes, mate,” Harry replies with an emphatic nod.

Liam groans, eyes shutting while throwing a hand over them.  “You know I have a plot to murder you, right?”

“Think I saw a blueprint or something while I was rifling through your room for a shirt to wear,” Harry chimes and Liam blinks his eyes open, turning his head and that was _Liam’s_ shirt Harry was wearing – and it doesn’t look as remotely as good on Liam as it manages to look on Harry.

“How long?” Liam wonders, another sputtering sigh crossing his lips.

“Oh,” Harry strings out, turning his wrist to look at that damn invisible watch again and Liam truly thinks he could kill him, plan or no plan.  Harry grins, “Maybe fifteen minutes?”

Liam doesn’t know where that surge of energy comes from but he’s leaping over Harry, climbing over the back of the couch like an Olympian and he’s undressed, trapped under the cool water of the shower before Harry can even call for him.  The water’s a little too cold but he doesn’t care, scrubbing with whatever body wash Harry’s left in the shower because he’s too rushed to grab his own and vanilla fills his nostrils.  It’s not that he truly cares about Niall or Louis but he’s sort of, a little certain he’s washing away the days’ sweat for Zayn.  He doesn’t even know why and he’s uncertain if he shivers because the water is getting colder or because he thinks about gold-brown eyes.  And he’s probably checking the mirror a little too often like Zayn does at work, toying with the collar of his Oxford shirt and really maybe he’s a little overdressed but he’s slipped into some dark jeans and Converse to cover it all up.

Niall brings endless boxes of take away, Louis brings a couple of bottles of wine, and Zayn tosses some crisps Harry’s way before smiling at Liam, handing him a couple of cans of Coke – he remembered.  They all sit around for a few hours, Louis and Harry continuously refilling their fancy wine glasses – _Louis bought them because “the place needs something bomb”_ – and Niall continuously opens up boxes of Chinese food to refill his plates.  Zayn keeps teasing Niall about Eleanor while Louis sits in Harry’s lap on the couch, pretending to care about the conversations but really he’s combing fingers through Harry’s hair, whispering things to him that make Harry blush and his pupils are dark with excitement.

Niall fiddles with the lengthier hair at the top of Liam’s head, swirling wine in a red plastic cup, and Liam’s giggling, listening Niall rattle off the dozens of ways Eleanor is perfect and Liam grins when Louis agrees loudly from afar, shrinking a little when Harry glares at him.  Louis is declaring himself the jolliest man in the city from atop the shaky coffee table and Harry’s hiccupping out giggles, cheeks flushed and eyes a bit wide.  Niall’s rolling around on the ground with laughter, continuously checking his phone for a message from El and Liam’s sitting next to Harry, watching the way Zayn just grins from across the room at all the madness.

It’s when half the couch is occupied by Harry with Louis on top of him, snogging like kids with no clue, that Liam feels scrunched and desperate for air.  He scoffs at Harry’s hand reaching a little too far for Louis’ ass and was that one of Louis’ Vans pressing into his side?  He groans, probably not as loud as Harry does when Louis’ hand slips beneath his T-shirt, and he barely catches a hand reached out toward him.

“I need a smoke,” Zayn says, jerking his head in the direction of the door and Liam bites down on a grin, gladly taking Zayn’s hand and letting him pull Liam from the pile of moving limbs and wet sounds.

It’s just the right side of warm outside, the sun finally falling away but the sky is still tinged in a pinkish purple.  They’re sitting on the stoop to the brick building, elbows on their knees as Zayn fiddles with his cigarette and Liam watches the way the sky turns colors.  When Zayn exhales out smoke, flicking his cigarette a little, Liam takes him in.  That tight black T-shirt with high tops and jeans on and his hair isn’t really styled but it still looks that way.

He’s dancing his eyes over Zayn’s tattoos, not that he hasn’t looked at them before, but he’s examining the shading of the microphone on the inside of Zayn’s forearm and the darkness of the ink splashing up from Zayn’s wrist.  Liam nibbles on his lower lip, watching veins flex beneath the yin yang tattoo, the smoothness of the coloring on the “ZAP!” tattoo and Liam knows Zayn has it because he adores comic books, something they have in common.  He finds that out one night when the pub is closed, Liam going on about Batman to Niall who’s munching on a plate of fish and chips and Zayn’s got a glimmer in his eyes that tingles against Liam’s stomach.  When Zayn goes to take another puff, Liam thinks about tracing his forefinger over the crossed fingers tattoo along Zayn’s forearm, wants to rub his thumb into the crisp ink of the palm tree hanging above the word _“Chillin’”_ but it all settles down at the bottom of his heart.

They talk quietly, small smiles and white teeth when they laugh.  Liam talks about life back home and Zayn’s a little hushed then, small remarks about Bradford and not really missing it.  Liam mentions watching Zayn doodle on cocktail napkins and sketch along blank receipts and there’s something lit in Zayn’s eyes when he talks about loving to draw; Liam doesn’t mention how beautiful Zayn is when he’s talking, though he wants to.  Zayn confesses to not knowing how to swim when Liam mentions wanting to get out of the city, find an ocean and surf; Liam can’t believe himself when he says, “I want to teach you,” but Zayn’s biting down on his lips shyly, nodding.  Liam blushes a little when Zayn stubs out his cigarette and inches an arm around Liam’s shoulders, laughing about the way Louis has been madly in love with Harry for months before talking about his fear of dancing: “It’s just not my thing mate.”

“And when the summer is over?” Zayn wonders almost an hour later, arm still around Liam’s shoulders and Liam doesn’t know when he started running light fingers over Zayn’s forearm but he can feel the light black hairs there and the smoothness of Zayn’s tattoos artfully scripted against Zayn’s smooth skin.

“I go to Uni and start my life, I guess,” Liam says and it all comes out a bit nonchalant.

Zayn nods, eyes turning from Liam’s.  There’s a thoughtful expression dripping over Zayn’s face and he’s slowly repeating, “Start your life.”

“What about you?  You don’t go to University?” Liam inquires and Zayn’s head is turning back, eyes blinking quickly.

“No,” Zayn replies, his voice low and indignant.

“Why?” Liam questions and he wants to take the question back because Zayn’s face falls a little, arm slipping off of Liam’s shoulders.  There’s something hidden beneath the glassiness of Zayn’s eyes and, even though the sun has completely faded, Liam can see the amber speckles in Zayn’s brown eyes.

Liam leans in Zayn’s direction a little, nudging shoulders.  He’s got a comforting smile on his lips, eyes encouraging and Zayn pushes out a small, soft smile, elbows on his knees again as he looks out to the street.

“I wanted to go to art school.  I always felt so _free_ when drawing and reading comics,” Zayn starts, fingers rubbing together with a dash of excitement.  Liam’s nodding, grin thickening as Zayn continues,“But I didn’t get in.  Didn’t have the grades, I guess.  I didn’t really know; didn’t care.”

Liam quirks an eyebrow up, watches the way Zayn’s body tenses up and he’s vulnerable.  Liam rests a hand on Zayn’s knee, heartening squeeze because it’s all he can do and that serene expression that spreads over Zayn’s face is contagious.  Liam actually rests his chin on Zayn’s shoulder, doesn’t know where he gets the audacity, but when Zayn doesn’t flinch, he laces an arm around Zayn’s back and waits a beat or two before softly nudging Zayn to continue.

“My parents never really had much, not that I knew it as a kid.  We got by and my baba worked hard, _real_ hard to make sure we all had what we needed.  My mum too.  I didn’t really hate it but the kids at school were never really nice, especially since I wasn’t exactly like them.  And I wanted so bad to get a scholarship to art school, get away from everything and move on.  Just leave it all back there,” Zayn confesses and his voice is stricken with drops of anger layered with guilt.

Liam’s fingers tighten on Zayn, breathing in that burning scent of smoke and sharp cologne that almost smells like orange zest.  He catches the curl of Zayn’s lip and, if he could without dying, he’d kiss away that disdain.

Zayn’s fingers are laced together and his eyes are on the ground.  He exhales lightly before saying, “But then there’s my sisters.  I love them to death and I knew if I went too far, they wouldn’t be okay.  They _need_ me.”

Liam lets his hand chase up the seam of Zayn’s jeans, lift until the tips of his calloused fingers can run gently over Zayn’s knuckles like streams of a lake swishing over rocks.  He’s not looking at Zayn’s face anymore, can’t carry on if he knows there’s anguish or even the slightest speckling of anger there.  His thumb rubs over the bird tattoo just on the edge of the back of Zayn’s hand, edging it and wondering if that’s the dove Zayn wants to be, flying free of this world.

“So I’m here,” Zayn laughs out, but it’s nothing like the sound Liam’s used to hearing.  “I save most of my tips up so I can take care of them.  I can’t do that at Uni and I’m okay with that.”

Liam nods, doesn’t press Zayn for more.  He lets the silence swirl around them, small touches here and there and he wonders if Zayn even minds.  He wonders when Zayn’s hand turns and their fingers are running over each other, thumb to thumb, pinky to pinky.  He blinks a couple of times, lifts his eyes and Zayn’s smiling down at him, calm and everything that pinched his face before has gone.

“And you’ll be gone when summer is over,” Zayn says quietly, nodding before Liam can.

Liam exhales hard, doesn’t speak because he can feel his words already hitching in his throat.  He darts his eyes away from Zayn’s, thoughts raging on and since when did he want to rip up all the plans he’s made since he was a kid?  When did he want to avenge his heart for always laying broken for so long and waiting to be put together like puzzle pieces?  He taps his shoe on top of Zayn’s, mouth pushed sideways and that silence is now just as discomforting as it was peaceful minutes before.

**

It’s the first time really Liam’s had more than one night off during the work week and he doesn’t know why he chose to still spend it at Cowell’s but Louis invited him a few days earlier when he and Harry had an impromptu sleepover that, much to Liam’s chagrin, was more of a ‘Who Can Moan the Loudest’ contest.  So he lets Louis pick him up later, flannel shirt unbutton with an ash gray shirt beneath and Louis’ all suspenders, Crayola blue shirt on, with those damn rolled up chinos and Liam swears he wouldn’t have Louis any other way.

They’ve been occupying Niall’s corner of the bar most of the night, only slipping away a few times to argue over songs at the jukebox and play a game of darts, but Liam’s humoring Louis most of the night.  Eleanor stops by more than a few times to run her fingers through Louis’ hair or hang on Liam between tables but Liam’s certain it’s only because she wants to steal a grin from that Irish bastard who keeps feeding Louis drinks that are too strong for either of them.  Harry comes by more than a few times, complaining about customers and making eyes at Louis to which Liam starts to wonder how long it is before Harry and Louis are creeping off to the loo to screw around in one of the stalls.

Zayn’s been busy entertaining a few of Perrie’s friends most of the night, smiling and slinging an arm around Perrie’s waist when she sneaks behind the bar.  She rests her freshly dyed hair on his shoulder and pets a hand over Zayn’s chest, giggling at everything he says even though Zayn could recite the alphabet and she’d still act as if it was humorous.  Liam sighs, watching them, and averts his eyes when Zayn looks his way because, bugger all, everything about Zayn was confusing.  Everything about Perrie and Zayn and the way they touched like they were more than friends, like he thought he and Zayn did, was like the worst kind of mystery movie on the telly late at night when he’s had no sleep.

He’s sipping on a bottle of root beer, his fifth one, and Louis’ air toasting the room before slurping on his cranberry juice and top shelf vodka, his _eighth_ one, when Niall slides up to them, wide eyes and crazy grin that’s infectious in the way Liam doesn’t want it to be.

“He’s making eyes at Liam again,” Niall says loudly over the sounds of Muse descending into David Bowie.  He’s shouting toward Louis but looking right at Liam and Liam shifts his eyebrows, nurses on his root beer a little longer.

“Countdown to Liam ignoring him in five, four, seven… wait, I mean _three_ ,” Louis giggles out, using his straw to stir around the lime and ice cubes in the ruby colored drink.

“What are you two going on about?” Liam finally asks with a deep sigh.

“This little dance you and Malik are doing,” Niall notes in a singsong voice, nose wrinkling with a grin.

Liam shakes his head, turning purposely away from Zayn’s end of the bar to look at Louis.

“Jackpot!” Louis shouts out, wild giggle following.  “Told ya he’d do it.”

Liam’s shoulders drop a little, rolling his eyes as Louis sips merrily on his drink.  He swirls his drink around in the bottle, looking down at the bar before saying, “Zayn doesn’t dance.”

“Or do anything but stare at you it would seem,” Louis hiccups out, shaking his empty glass at Niall.  Niall’s nodding gleefully, spinning around to fill another rock glass full of ice.  Liam wishes he wouldn’t though he knows Zayn could probably drive Louis home while Liam catches a ride with Harry after his shift.

“You’re full of shit,” Liam barks out, taking a bitter swallow of the root beer.

“Oi, quit being an arse,” Louis prattles angrily, forcefully punching at Liam’s shoulder but he barely makes contact and Liam’s raising his brow at him.  He has to sigh out a chuckle when Louis tries to regain his balance on the stool, swiping his new drink from Niall’s fingers.

“He’s kind of right Liam,” Niall says gently, leaning on the bar.

Liam’s shaking his head, “He’s got better things to do,” he says intently but part of him wants to glance over his shoulder to see if Louis and Niall are telling the truth.  He doesn’t.  He just traces his thumb over the rim of his bottle, watching Louis stab clumsily at a few of the cherries in his glass.

“He actually doesn’t,” Louis announces, eyes lighting up when he catches one of the cherries but it falls off his straw just as quick as he lifts it, rolling over the bar like an escapee from prison.  Liam chuckles into his bottle while Niall drops another one in Louis’ drink to appease him.

“Yeah, he does,” Liam replies assuredly, not that he really knew.  He just wanted to imagine he did.

“Zayn’s got nothing but this job, his family, and art, man.  On his days off, he doesn’t do much.  He likes to head down to that park we play ‘ball at and sit under one of those big trees to sketch some things.  He’s sort of a homebody at best,” Niall explains, gathering together a few drinks for customers lining up at the bar and Liam’s pretty amazed at how smooth Niall is at carrying a conversation while shaking up all sorts of colorful drinks and filling beer mugs.

“True.  So true Horan,” Louis says with a clumsy nod, smirking when Harry passes by with a wink.  He leans in Liam’s direction, “Kid’s got a sweet ass.  When we make love, holy shit –“

Liam quickly throws his hands up in offense, face scrunching and Louis’ tipping back like he just realized what he said, lips forming an “O” and Niall’s tossing balled up cocktail napkins at Louis’ head.  He looks back down into his glass, stirring the ice cubes once more with blush freckling his cheeks.

“He _is_ good though,” Louis says dejectedly.

“I’m sure he is Lou,” Liam agrees, laying a comforting hand on Louis’ shoulder.

“You lot are off your rockers,” Niall laughs out, cracking open two Heinekens before sliding them to a grateful Nick who scurries off.  “Lou, we were talking about _Zayn_ , not you and Hazza.”

“Right, right.  Zayn,” Louis chimes, shaking his glass in Zayn’s direction and Liam’s leaning back to avoid the splashing alcohol.  He leans toward Liam again, holding his drink up to Liam before remarking, “He’s a great kid, if not a bit stuck on himself.  But, really, as his best mate I have to tell you: he’s missing something.”

Niall’s nodding when Liam glances at him, lips pressed together in a thin line.

“Doesn’t seem that way,” Liam says offhandedly, finally chancing a look at Zayn and there’s Perrie again, pressing a pink kiss to his cheek and Zayn’s blushing, fumbling with a few clean glasses.

“Oi, are you kidding me?” Louis asks, nearly doubling over with laughter, thumping his fist on the bar.  Liam tries to bury his scowl behind a blank expression but he doesn’t do well with succeeding.

“It’s not what you think Liam,” Niall insists, leaning in a little further, trying to be quiet.

“I don’t _think_ anything,” Liam states and it might’ve been believable if Niall was in the slightest bit drunk or if Louis was as intuitive as he has always been.

“Bloody liar,” Louis snorts, gulping down a fourth of his drink.  "Fucking bullshit."

“Lou,” Niall hisses but Louis holds up a hand dismissively, shaking his head.

“Nope, not hearing it.  It’s quite evident that our dear Mr. Payne believes there’s something going on between Zayn and Perrie, which he would’ve been right about maybe a year ago, but now?  Not even.  And even though you try to hide it, we all see it when you look at them.  Sad little puppy Liam, wishing she’d just go away,” Louis says and his words are pointy, a little sharp but maybe it’s because, for once, they’re true.

Liam rubs at the hairs along his chin, lips pressed tightly together and everything inside of him wants to shout at Louis but he doesn’t.  He doesn’t even deny it like he wish he could.

“They were together, for a little bit, a while ago though Liam,” Niall clarifies, resting a hand on Liam’s wrist.  Liam nods, still biting back his words.  He listen to Niall as he says, “But Zayn called it off.  Said she wasn’t what he really wanted and didn’t want to hurt her in the long run.  She’s still kind of madly in love with him, but she knows better.  She just keeps hoping he’ll change his mind, I guess, which is kind of silly when it’s quite evident his attention is always somewhere else nowadays.”

Liam cuts his eyes in Niall’s direction, lets them soften a bit because everything on the inside of him wants to read between those lines Niall’s drawn and hope he means what Liam thinks he does.  But Niall’s shrugging, leaning back to wipe down a few clean beer mugs.

“And as his best mate,” Louis begins, using his fingers to pluck one of the cherries from his drink, “I know firsthand how Zayn is.  He’s all straightforward with everything in life except his personal life.  He doesn’t always make the moves he should or make it quite clear, which is fine.  But I’m sick and tired of listening to him whine about something he could’ve easily had way before now, am I right?”

Liam blinks at him a few times, mouth opening but the words don’t really come.  He clears his throat, looks away.

“You and Harry talk too much,” Liam tells him and he can hear the little giggle passes through Louis’ lips.

“As his best mate,” Louis says, words buzzing.

“As you’ve already established,” Niall sighs.

“Shut it Horan,” Louis hisses, shaking his cherry at Niall and it snaps off the stem, rolling on the bar to join its already fallen comrade.  Louis sighs dramatically and Niall’s tossing another one in Louis’ drink, perfect aim.

“As his Zayn Malik’s best mate, I know what he needs.  He needs some solid ground.  Something else to give him reason besides his family and his dreams of being an artist.  Or a singer.  Or whatever he wants to be.  He needs a good _guy_ to come along and show him he’s just as important as everything he puts before himself,” Louis declares and if Liam didn’t know any better, he’d say Louis becomes wiser and justified the more he drinks.

“A good guy,” Niall repeats proudly, nodding at Liam.  “This guy would know.”

“That I would,” Louis cheers triumphantly before adding, “For I am the Tommo.”

“Oi, don’t bring the Tommo back,” Niall pleads, hands raised in mock surrender.  Liam’s quirking an eyebrow but Niall’s turning back to him with a nod.  “Should’ve seen this guy last summer; he was quite beastly.  He corrupted us all.”

Louis’ nodding a little too quick and Liam’s certain the room’s probably spinning in the poor guy’s head but Niall’s adding lowly, “But it’s hard to argue with the Tommo.  Malik _does_ need a good guy… Kinda like you.”

Liam feels his cheeks catching fire, ducking his head some and he turns on his stool, spots Zayn smiling at him before Perrie’s throwing her arms around him from behind, giggling and clutching to him for life.  He shrugs, nibbling on the corner of his bottom lip and Liam guesses Perrie’s as tipsy as her friends who are dancing foolishly at the bar to the sounds of Madonna.  He’s stringing a few fingers through his own brown hair, tracing over the buzzed sides and, just this once, he smiles back at Zayn.

“And as his best mate, I’m quite certain the guy needs a royally fantastic shag like the ones I have with Harry,” Louis’ sputtering into Liam’s ear and Liam’s choking on his own spit, face scarlet shaded as he spins back around with a grinning Louis who’s toasting him with dazed eyes and Niall’s gagging behind the bar.

**

It’s not Harry’s fault; not completely.  Maybe he was a little miffed because all night Louis’ been giving him eyes while he’s trying to work, tugging on the leg of his neatly pressed trousers and fiddling with Harry’s waistcoat when he comes to the bar to pick up a tray of drinks for a very pretentious party of friends that Harry dreadfully tries to pawn off on Eleanor but she’s not biting.  And they tip like shit, Harry lets him know at least a dozen times, and who the hell orders a chilled shot of Jack Daniels anyways?  Or maybe Harry’s just a bit fussy because Liam’s a little too busy assisting Zoe in the kitchen since Ed is out with the flu to help Harry clear off a few of the extra tables near the back of the pub.

It was probably Liam’s fault because he can’t afford to take the weekend off to go home to visit with his parents and it’s getting closer and closer to the start of Uni and damn Perrie for needing _this_ weekend of all weekends off for some singing gig down near Yorkshire.  And he hears the little catch in his mother’s voice when he calls her between the crowds in the pub, wanting to bury his face in the dark to wipe away his own tears when she hands the phone to his dad.

He wishes Zayn didn’t see the redness in his eyes when he comes to drop off the dirty glasses behind the bar because Zayn’s dragging him to the back, shoving Liam into the office and turning his back to Liam, whispering, “Go ahead, give us a cry.  I won’t tell.”  And Liam does just that, quietly with his head down and a hand pressed tightly over his eyes.  He’s grateful Zayn doesn’t actually _look_ at him and when he’s done, Zayn pulls him into a hug, doesn’t ask what it’s about, but leaves Liam in the office to clean up his face and look a bit more presentable before returning to the floor.

And Liam’s tired, no, _exhausted_ when they get back to their flat.  His shoulders are sore from carrying endless trays; back aching from bending over to pick up every knocked over drink, dropped plate, countless napkins.  His feet don’t want to carry him three steps, let alone the distance from the door to his bedroom and he’s quite certain he smells like a mix of bourbon, vodka, and gin which did not make for a pleasant scent when trapped in the close quarters of Harry’s small car.  All he wants to do is crawl into his bed, well actually, he really wants to crawl into _Zayn’s_ bed but that’s never happening.

But there it is, the minute he gets into his room – Louis’ discarded pants, a stripped navy blue shirt, Louis’ damn Tom’s in the doorway, and why are Harry’s boxers hanging off a corner of his bed?  His hands turn to fists before he has the mental power to think it.  It’s all tipping, wait for it, _falling_ over the edge and he’s quite certain he’s had enough.

Harry’s hanging off the couch, one leg on the coffee table, another arm hanging off the back of the couch, and Liam tries but he can’t contain himself.  He’s chucking all of Louis’ clothes, Harry’s boxers, the damn Tom’s at Harry in one large pile.

“Oi, are you pissed or something?” Harry howls out, leaping from the couch with a scowl.  He’s actually glaring at Liam, upper lip curling.  “You’ve got to be properly dim, Liam.”

“ _Me?_  You think I’m being the wanker right now?” Liam asks, voice raising higher than Harry’s and his hands are curling into fists again.

“Damn right,” Harry hisses back, eyes peering.

“Oh get off your horse there Harry.  I’m sick of this.  I’m sick of all of it.  The Louis thing.  The world revolves around Harry Styles and God forbid any of the rest of us snatch the spotlight.  It’s all about you and your precious boyfriend, who by the way needs to keep his clothing in _your_ room, not _mine_ ,” Liam says, fire burning his words and he can see the way Harry’s mouth twitches the whole time he’s speaking.  He knows its riling Harry up but the biggest part of him doesn’t really give a shit right now.

“My _what?_ ” Harry asks with venom in his voice.

“Oh, right, you’ve never fancied Louis enough to make him something special,” Liam gushes, hands thrown up with frustration.  “Just another bloody shag, eh?  Why bother giving him a proper place in your life.  That would mean you’d actually have to make room for someone other than yourself, am I right?”

Liam catches it the moment it hits Harry’s face; he’s gutted.  It’s not as subtle as the way his lips crack around the corner or the way his brow lowers but its right there on the rim of his eyes.  He’s breathing heavily, anger still rolling around the shoulders and even Harry’s fingers are curled into fists, but there’s something cracking the exterior.

“Get lost Payne,” Harry spits out, turning from him.

“Harry –“

“Liam James fucking Payne, sod off.  I don’t want to listen to you anymore.  I don’t want you to go on about Louis or whatever it is that’s bothering, which I suspect has _nothing_ to do with me or the choices that I make in life,” Harry chews out, still not looking at Liam.  His head is shaking and the way he keeps flexing his fingers reminds Liam of the time Harry _did_ cry over something, someone.

“Look man, I just… I’m tired.  And it’s been a long day.  My family wanted to see me and I –“

Harry does turn then, eyes still peering and that glare unsettles Liam.  There’s a sharpness to it, cuts without trying.  Harry’s jaw is tense and the words come out so easily: “And you what?  You’re mad because I’m happy and you’re not?  Mad because, unlike you, I didn’t sit on my arse and go after what I wanted?  Mad because Zayn Malik would rather spend time with his _ex_ rather than little old, do-no-wrong Liam?”

Liam takes in a sharp breath, counts backwards from ten.  Maybe he deserved that.  Maybe it’s what Harry, no, _everyone_ has been thinking for a while now.  Not that it matters because Harry was supposed to be his best mate.  He was supposed to be supportive, not this bloke.  He wants to believe those small tears at the corners of Harry’s eyes were big enough to take back the words, but they’re not.

He’s out the door, the one he kicked closed with no reservations, and down the road before he realizes it.  He’s still taking it deep breaths, reciting his ABC’s in his mind, doing anything to ingest this anger.  He’s kicking at empty cans, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jumper, and stomping in whatever direction he’s walking.  But that’s the problem: he’s unsure of where he’s going.  All the streets are fading into each other and he doesn’t know the city well enough to know exactly _where_ he is.

Liam yanks his phone from his pocket, scrolls through some of the contacts.  He could call Louis, but Harry probably has already and he’s certain that conversation wouldn’t go over smashingly.  He swipes by Niall’s name and doesn’t ponder it long because Niall’s probably with Eleanor and that’d be pretty fucking embarrassing to say the least.  He sighs heavily and he’s clicking on a final name, phone dialing before he’s even certain of the reason _why_ he’d dial this number.

“Liam?” The voice is enough to drag a quiet sigh from his lips and all the emotions, the ones that were buried beneath the anger, the hate, the complete despise for Harry seem to bubble to the surface, exploding all at once.

“I don’t mean to call, not this late at least, but,” he pauses, trying to calm his breathing but it’s a bit too late.  There’s something stinging the corner of his eyes and he’s wiping it away before the tears actually form.  “I’ve had a bit of a row with Harry.  Actually, a big one.  And I walked out.  I walked the fuck out.  I couldn’t take it, couldn’t stay there and now I’m trying to sort my way around town but I’ve got no idea where I am and, this sounds silly, but can I –“

“Yes,” Zayn says and it comes out like a sigh of relief.  Liam’s bottom lip trembles a little and he’s trying to grab a hold of that anger again because, damn it all, he’s _not_ going to cry on the phone with Zayn on the other end.

“I mean, right now, yeah?  Because I –“

“Oh, no, I’m sorry.  If I’m imposing,” Liam starts, catching himself.  What was he thinking?  How could he think he could just show up at Zayn’s flat, this late in the evening?  Of course he probably had plans; plans that did not include an emotional and sort of desperate Liam Payne.

“You’re not Liam.  Not at all.  Uhm, I can give you directions, yeah?  Walk you through it,” Zayn says and Liam wonders if he’s just imagining Zayn’s smile through the phone.

He swallows, eyes closing to exhale softly but it’s just enough to shake some of the tension pulling at his veins.  The night’s cool air is swallowing him, burning off some of that steam and he’s grinning a little when Zayn starts directing him once Liam finds the nearest street, talks him through every left, every street crossing, red and amber lights.

He takes in a few deep breaths before knocking on the door to Zayn’s flat and there’s a couple of beats before the door is swinging open, a brilliantly bright smile on Zayn’s lips.  The background is draped in darkness except the light from a television eclipsing the shadows.  Liam tries to hide his nervousness and all he offers Zayn is a small shrug when Zayn looks him over.

“Vas happenin’?” Zayn asks softly but cheerfully.

“Guh, you’re so naff.”

Liam’s brow raises, the voice coming from inside not recognizable but then Zayn’s glancing over his shoulder, hissing quietly, “Shut it.”

Liam waits until Zayn turns back to him, a simple shrug and then there’s that glowing smile returning, dragging Liam inside with a little hesitation from Liam.  Liam’s drug into an embrace, eyes closing because he thinks maybe that’s all he needed.  Zayn’s rubbing small circles into his back and Liam’s hesitantly raising his arms, wrapping them around Zayn with his head resting on Zayn’s shoulder.  He breathes in cigarettes, almond coffee, sharp cologne and everything he never plans to forget about Zayn.  His fingers dig into the fabric of Zayn’s shirt, Zayn squeezing a small exhale from his lips.

“Better?” Zayn asks, nuzzling his cheek against Liam’s temple.

“Much,” Liam whispers, doesn’t even pretend not to need this more than anything.

Zayn pulls back, eyes crinkled and lips upturned as he looks on Liam.  He runs a hand over Liam’s hair, an almost brotherly gesture and Liam’s too exhausted to analyze it.  He just leans back, snickering some before slapping Zayn’s hand away.

There’s a clearing of a throat, soft and very feminine, and Liam shakes a little.  He almost forgot that other voice, haloing joy within his heart when looking into freckled gold-brown eyes.  Zayn’s peeking past him, scrunched expression, and Liam’s spinning around.

The living area is draped in purple darkness but the small telly in the corner lights up just enough of the room for Liam to take it in.  There’s a black pull-out couch pressed against the wall, an almost silvery white sette near with a round coffee table in the middle.  There’s a few drawings plastered on the wall, some large and colorful, others small and black and white.  There’s a bundling of blankets draped on the floor, pillows thrown everywhere and if Liam strains his neck enough he can see into the dining area and the kitchen just beyond that.

The apartment was a bit larger than he and Harry’s and Liam should’ve maybe figured that judging by the buildings he walked past on the way to Zayn’s.  There’s a large, black Shar Pei drooling on the floor as it sleeps and when Liam listens hard enough, he can hear _The Dark Knight_ playing on the telly.

Zayn drapes an arm around Liam from behind, curling his elbow until he’s practically hugging Liam with one arm.  Liam can spot the smile from the corner of his eye, eases into that touch like second nature.

“Sorry, I was trying to tell you earlier that I’ve got a bit of company,” Zayn says, head nodding in the direction of the couch and floor.  Liam didn’t miss that part when taking in all the sights of Zayn’s flat, lips twisting sideways.

“I’m intruding,” Liam states, hands slipping back into the pockets of his jumper when brown eyes stare at him questioningly from the couch.

“Don’t be silly.  It’s just my sisters,” Zayn snickers lowly, pulling Liam a little closer with the arm hugging Liam’s neck.

“Oh,” Liam says, well tries to but it comes out as more of a noise rather than word.

“Really Zayn? _Just_ your sisters?”

“Didn’t I tell you to shut it?” Zayn bites back and there’s a friendly exchange of stares that is the pure definition of sibling rivalry that Liam can’t help but fumble out a smile.

“Your sisters,” Liam whispers, looking over the three bodies strewn across the furniture and floor of the sitting area.

“The small one sleep on the floor is Waliyha,” Zayn notes, head motioning toward the small girl who’s wrapped in a bundle of comforters and sleep upside down.

“The little bit there is Safaa,” Zayn adds, motioning to the small one sleep with her head laid in the lap of those brown eyes, “and my older sister Doniya, the brat.”

“Prat,” Doniya sneers back mockingly, proud grin on her lips when Zayn’s mouth falls open.

Liam chuckles, a hand covering his mouth.  He watches Waliyha stir a little and yawn, still breathing evenly.  They each have some of Zayn’s features; the sharpness of the jaw, soft brow, sleek cheeks, golden skin.  Doniya’s combing fingers through Safaa’s hair and she’s watching Liam intently, studying him like Zayn did once before, months ago.

“Liam, right?” she asks, eyebrow cocked upward.

Liam’s nodding, nerves rolling from his spine to his feet.  She’s nodding back, giving him another once over with a grin, winking at Zayn and it’s all a bit uncomfortable because he can’t read her yet and Zayn’s behind him, quiet and warm.  He just tugs fingers through his brown hair, offering her a small smile.

“Isn’t it time for you to go to sleep?” Zayn asks her, words forceful.

“What am I twelve or Safaa?” Doniya asks, chuckling before pulling her phone from beneath Safaa’s small form.  She’s swiping her thumb over it before giggling out, “I’ve got to tweet that.  Poor thing.”

Zayn groans and Liam’s grinning, the exchange reminding him of days long past between he and his siblings; or he and Harry.  He feels a frown tug at his lips then, shaking it away as Zayn presses gently against the small of his back.  He’s glancing back but Zayn’s still watching Doniya as she grins.

“Doniya,” Zayn hums and there’s a warning in his tone.

“Oh God, what are you gonna do Zayn?  Tell mum on me?  Come on now,” Doniya gushes.

“Whatever,” Zayn sighs, giving Liam another gentle nudge forward.  “Since you three have clearly taken up all the space in here, Liam can just sleep in my room.”

Doniya giggles, hand over her lips.  She’s shaking her head as Zayn grabs Liam’s hand, tugging him forward.  “How convenient.”

Zayn’s rolling his eyes and Liam’s a bit lost by it all but he follows Zayn through the dark hallway to the back, nervously following Zayn into the lone bedroom in the flat.  Zayn flips on the light and it’s not much but Liam can tell it feels like home to Zayn.

The walls are covered in a deep blue, artful splattering of black paint strewn over the walls, probably created by flicking a brush in a carefree manner.  There’s a Superman emblem poster hanging sideways on one wall, some unfinished stenciling in one of the corners creating stars leading to the ceiling.  The floors are hardwood, nothing new because they creak a little when the right amount of pressure hits them.  The bed isn’t made, black and white sheets tossed everywhere and the pillows are pressed to the headboard.  There’s a small lamp on the nightstand and a desk lined up against the wall opposite of the bed with a notebook laying open on it, charcoal pencils, a few pens, and markers surrounding it.

Liam takes a few steps in, peeks at the desk where there is also a small silver frame holding a picture of Zayn and his family.  Liam can immediately spot Zayn’s mother, the softness of her face and those eyes so undeniably like Zayn’s.  His father is a stockier version of Zayn, same sharpness along the face and that nose.  His sisters are crowded around him and Zayn’s so _young_ in the picture, toothy grin and short hair.  Everything about it pulls Liam in, warms along the lining of his chest and he’s tilting his head, biting down on his grin as he admires it.

“I hope you don’t mind.  Figured you needed somewhere comfortable to lay your head, cool off,” Zayn says and Liam’s laying the picture back on the desk, turning a little toward Zayn.

“It’s, well, uhm,” Liam stumbles and he hadn’t even realized Zayn had shut the door, lean frame now leaning against it.

Zayn gives him a crooked glance and then his eyes are going wide, mouth falling open.  He’s shaking his head, kicking at the floor a little and it’s a bit adolescent but Liam can’t help but find it cute.

“Oh man, I’m sorry.  That was a bit forward of me, yeah?  I’m sure you didn’t plan to come here and sort things out by staying in my room or anything,” Zayn says quickly and Liam can see the ball of nerves winding Zayn up.

“Its fine, Zayn, really,” Liam says assuredly, hands up in hopes Zayn calms down a little.

“Are you sure?  Because I can kick Doniya to the floor, scoop up Safaa to stay in here and you can have the couch to yourself,” Zayn insists, taking a few worried steps forward.

Liam grins halfheartedly, shaking his head.  “Your room is fine.  Bed looks comfortable.”

Zayn smiles back, a quick glance to his bed.  He gives a shrug, stinging fingers through his hair and it’s the first time Liam notices that that blonde strip is completely faded, deep brown locks remaining.

“It has its days,” Zayn laughs out, tugging at the collar of his black T-shirt.  Liam looks him over: loose pajama pants hanging low on his hips, stripped and polka dot socks that are a bit festive for the summer but he’s certain they were probably a gift from some relative.  When Zayn pulls hard enough on his T-shirt Liam can spot a few other tattoos around Zayn’s collarbone; something in Arabic Liam presumes and was that black ink spelling out _‘Friday?’_ just near his shoulder?

“Do you want to talk about it?” Zayn asks, drawing Liam’s attention away.  There’s blush heating his cheeks but he shakes his head, turns his attention back to the desk.  He flips through a few pages of the notebook, varied sketches and drawings littered throughout it.

“These are amazing,” Liam notes, stopping on a sketch that looks like Safaa surrounded by balloons, stars, and a yellow brick road.  He grins, turning the page again to a charcoal drawing of a bandana and a few skulls.

“Not really,” Zayn says shyly, sliding up behind Liam and resting his chin on Liam’s shoulder.  “Just something to pass the time.”

“They’re really great Zayn,” Liam insists, still flipping through and there’s some more colorful drawings, a few stick figures, and then there’s a scribbled text: _‘Only time will tell…’_

“It’s not,” Zayn retorts, reaching past Liam to quickly shut the notebook.  He’s sliding it away but staying comfortably close to Liam.  He’s biting on his lip, eyes downward and Liam turns to look on him as Zayn says, “Just a silly dream that won’t come true.”

Liam stares at him, listens as Zayn’s feet shuffle against the floor and he’s slipping a finger under Zayn’s chin, lifting his head.  When he finds Zayn’s eyes, he’s holding back a smile to give Zayn a serious face.  “It’s not silly and your art is amazing.  _You’re_ amazing.”

Liam holds Zayn’s chin, thumb unconsciously rubbing against the scruff along Zayn’s jaw and chin.  Zayn’s blinking slowly, watching Liam and he doesn’t know why he’s suddenly suffocating a desire to lean forward and kiss Zayn because Zayn’s licking his lips and there’s that starry-eyed look he’s only seen when he was younger kissing his first real crush.  He doesn’t though, smiling petulantly for Zayn as he drops his hand, stretching languidly and yawning.

“Right, I should let you sleep,” Zayn finally says, shivering a little.

Liam chews on the inside of his mouth, nodding slowly.  “It’s been a long day.”

“Yeah,” Zayn breathes out, rubbing his hands along the sides of his pants.  “You probably need rest.”

“You’re not joining me?” Liam asks and there’s a sickening shyness in his voice that he wants to strangle.

Zayn’s eyebrow perks up and there’s a crooked grin passing over his lips.  He runs a quick hand over his hair and Liam likes Zayn’s hair like this; not styled and gelled together but soft and pulled apart.

“Thought maybe you’d want me to crash on the floor or back with my sisters,” Zayn remarks, bouncing a little from foot to foot.

Liam shakes his head quickly, slipping out of his jumper and dropping it on the end of the bed.  He rubs at his shoulder, long drawn out sigh as he debates on unsnapping his jeans.  He finally does, stumbles out of them because he’s in no way suave like Zayn but he shucks them aside and Zayn’s looking over him with desire roaring through his eyes.

“I’d like it if you shared the bed with me,” Liam says, voice a little more confident but a fraction of it is forced and completely unbelievable.  “That is if you’d like to?”

“Very much so,” Zayn replies, walking back towards the door as Liam moves toward the bed.

The light is clicked back off and the darkness is a bit much but thankfully Liam’s already crawled into the bed, over the covers and he’s trying to fluff a pillow when he feels the bed dip, Zayn crawling toward him.  Sparking nerves tingle up his arms and he flops down onto his back, looking up at the ceiling as Zayn gets comfortable, close but not too close.  Liam swallows loudly, hand behind his head and he can _feel_ Zayn near but it all feels so chaste, childlike.

“This isn’t weird, yeah?”

“No,” Liam says flatly because it’s what he’s telling himself more than Zayn.  “Not at all.”

“Right,” Zayn whispers back, snuggling to the pillow Liam left untouched.  He’s facing Liam, body a little curled and Liam grins, uncontrollable and delighted.

“Thank you,” Liam says softly, words dipping into the air like the cool summer breeze outside.

“For what?”

Liam’s smile tightens, cheeks raised high.  He’s still staring at the ceiling but he can feel Zayn’s eyes on him, watching his every move.

“For letting me come here.  For treating me like I’m normal and not this completely daft bloke who’s always being so silly about things,” Liam sighs out, wants to look at Zayn but he’s afraid he might stop breathing if he sees Zayn’s face in the soft glow of the moon hidden behind the clouds outside.  He just rubs a hand over his chest before continuing, “For making me feel like I’m kinda great even though I’m certain I’m not.”

“You are,” Zayn says quickly, curtained, and there’s a hand slowly travelling over Liam’s, fingers tiptoeing over every knuckle, every scar and mark.

Liam smirks, doesn’t flinch when Zayn inches a little closer, a foot shyly rubbing against his ankle and Liam likes this.  He likes the way he and Zayn can touch, breathe and oh so subtly, and it doesn’t feel complicated or forced.  It doesn’t carry any type of subtext other than the way they both love that mild connection.  He shrugs the hand from behind his head, slides his arm down to tangle it around Zayn’s shoulders, shy and contempt but Zayn’s grinning against the inside of his arm and Liam doesn’t bother to remove it.

“You were watching Batman,” Liam says and he’s not quite sure why.  He hears a small giggle from Zayn and he’s flushed, cheeks red and nose twitching nervously.

“Yeah.  Think I’ve corrupted me sisters a little.  Think Safaa is going to beg mum to be the Joker next Halloween,” Zayn remarks, a laugh tickling every other word as he speaks.

Liam snorts, nodding and he bites down on his bottom lip.  “I love Batman.”

“I know,” Zayn whispers back and there’s a hint of confidence swallowed by unadulterated coyness.  “We’ve got a superheroes thing going.”

Liam nods with a chuckle, fingers swimming through Zayn’s hair, the softness like cotton between his digits.

“Louis thinks me a bit daft,” Zayn mentions, soft breaths leaving goosebumps right along Liam’s skin.

“Hmm?”

Zayn snorts, his thumb sweeping over the hair along Liam’s forearm.  Liam looks down, watching Zayn biting lightly along his bottom lip before he’s saying, “I don’t know.  I’m not good at these things.  I’m pretty good at keeping my thoughts and feelings to myself and I honestly thought only my sisters got me until I met Louis.  He _gets_ me and knows when I’m just pissing around or when I’m, I don’t know, something else.”

“Are you something else with me?” Liam asks and he’s not even aware of how bold he’s being.  He toys with the ends of Zayn’s dark hair and waits, counts to ten backwards and forwards again.

“Yes,” Zayn finally replies, tweaked smile pushing at the corners of his mouth.

“And that’s a good thing, right?”

Zayn laughs, low and hard, and Liam lifts his brow.  Zayn’s patting his chest patronizingly and Liam wonders if maybe it all is but a joke to Zayn.

“Yes, Liam, it’s good.  I’m sure, somewhere, it’s a little mad but I don’t know,” Zayn finally says, shrugging and that laughter is haunting Liam a little.  He turns his eyes toward the window but listens carefully when Zayn says, “But I like it.  I definitely like _this_.  I’m glad you’ve been around like you have.”

Liam’s nodding, his lips turning sideways but a smile is fighting against natural instinct.  He pulls Zayn a little tighter, barely notices when Zayn vines a leg around Liam’s.  He feels when Zayn slides a hand over the side of his hair, upward into that thick thatch of hair growing at the top.  He’s got fingers running over the skin of Zayn’s shoulder, wonders if anyone captured a photograph of this would they look more like lovers than friends?  But he doesn’t lean away when Zayn giggles into his ear, doesn’t roll away to go to sleep even though his eyes are incredibly heavy and everything about the day has drained him beyond measure.

“Liam?”

Liam quirks up an eyebrow, turns his head a little and those eyes, showers of gold falling over brown, hold his attention.

“I really hope this wouldn’t be terribly rude of me but,” Zayn stops, looks down for a minute like he’s thinking and Liam’s waiting on the rest of the statement or question or whatever it was Zayn was trying to get out.

It doesn’t come.  Words never continue but Zayn’s mouth is pressed to his, hauntingly confident and Liam’s not shoving him back, not stumbling out of the bed.  Zayn’s eyes are a bit lidded and though his lips are moving like it’s the surest thing he’s ever done, the fear still lingers in Zayn’s eyes.  It stays steadfast as Liam tests the water, learns the feel, the _taste_ of Zayn’s lips.  He stays a little motionless until he’s captured the moment in his mind and then he’s kissing Zayn, oh he’s kissing him back like he’s never going to get the chance again.

Zayn moans quietly, eyes finally slipping shut and Liam follows shortly, cataloguing the way Zayn’s face looks when he kisses first.  He melts away from reality when Zayn’s hand holds his cheek, controlling everything, and he’s succumbing so easily  He’s parting his lips a little, piano-key-struck when he tastes the tip of Zayn’s tongue.  And Liam’s in love with the way Zayn’s slender fingers feel against him, the way they’re warm like tea in mid-October.  He loves the way Zayn’s foot rubs down his shin and the way his heart races when Zayn angles his head just to deepen the kiss with the right hint of sin behind it.

When Zayn pulls back, Liam has to breathe out a silent exhale that rattles against his chest.  He hates that he’s been pulling on the sheets for more than thirty seconds now to prevent himself from ripping what’s left of Zayn’s clothes away.  He rolls back onto his back and he doesn’t want to look at Zayn, wants to settle down everything inside of him.

“I’m sorry Liam.” Zayn whispers and its quiet, but it sounds like that Zayn Liam first met.  The cool, almost uncaring one.  “Probably too forward of me.”

“Not at all,” Liam replies, drawing out the words to see how they feel against his tongue.  He grins, hard and unforgiving.

“You sure –“

“Zayn,” Liam quickly says, turning his head and Zayn’s lips press back together, swallowing words.  “I liked it.  Wanted it, okay?  Stupid as it sounds, I’ve been waiting on it and, Harry and Louis be damned, I was too scared shitless to do it myself, yeah?  Well job, mate.”

Zayn’s laughing again and it’s torturing the way it tickles Liam’s stomach.  His eyes are crinkling around the edges and his tongue presses so intently against the back of his teeth when he grins.

Zayn eases his arm underneath Liam, pulls him the small stretch separating and Liam doesn’t know why but he tucks his head under Zayn’s chin, cheek resting against Zayn’s collarbone with a hand weighing lightly on Zayn’s stomach.

“We can cuddle, right?  I’m a bit of a cuddler and don’t you take a piss at me for it,” Zayn says, his voice low and hushed now.

Liam feels his eyes fighting but they’re falling closed.  He merely nods for Zayn, doesn’t even notice when Zayn kisses the top of his head but he feels when Zayn runs a hand the length of his spine, sighs contently when Zayn tangles their legs together and lightly rakes his nails down the side of his neck, everything lulling Liam to that state of sleep he’s been dying to escape to hours before.

Liam wakes up alone in the bed, groggy and spread like out a starfish.  He’s certain he’s had the best dream ever as he rubs at his eyes, wants to roll out of his bed and call Eleanor and tell her all about it but this isn’t _his_ bed.  His hands dance over the sheets and the walls are far too blue to be that shitty flat he’s been in with Harry for months now.  He rubs at his eyes again and takes a deep breath in; he can _smell_ Zayn everywhere and he’s rubbing gently at his lips, beneath the cheapness and he can _feel_ Zayn still there.

Liam drops back on the bed, dumbstruck for minutes but then a smile is rolling over his lips.  He glances to his right and there’s still the wreck of sheets, pillow tossed aside, Zayn’s freaking T-shirt there in the bed, and nothing about last night was fantasized.  He scrubs at his head, his stomach doing somersaults and he shudders out a breath.  He laughs lowly, nibbling on his bottom lip, trying to piece it all together but his mind is running on empty.

He can smell blueberries, passion fruit, and burnt toast?  He peeks up, eyes the open door and he’s wondering where Zayn’s disappeared to but then there’s joyful screaming and pans clattering.  He grins, rolls out of the bed and slips back into his jeans.  He lets the sound of the Joker’s laugh pull him back down the hall and he peeks around the corner to watch Zayn fiddle with a few plates while Doniya scoops fresh muffins from a tin.  She’s humming a tune softly, fairy dust whimsical smile across her lips as Zayn sings lowly to her, bare feet moving awkwardly along the kitchen floor.  Waliyha is sitting crossed legged on the coffee table with her chin in her hands, staring longly at the television screen while Safaa runs around cheering.

“ _Li-am!_ ” Safaa calls out, dragging out his name, running into him and Liam’s brow raises, trying not to trip at the force of her hurled energy.  He runs a shy hand over her hair, glancing up to Doniya whose smirking like she knows something she shouldn’t while Zayn grins behind her, neon amber eyes staring at Liam.

“She knows my name?” Liam questions, watching her dash off shyly into the kitchen where she clutches to one of Doniya’s legs.

“She might’ve snuck into my room this morning while we were sleep and I kind of had to explain to her who you were,” Zayn responds, scratching at his head and Liam chews on his thumbnail, adoring the way Zayn looks even more handsome with that bed hair and darkened scruff along his chin.

“You mean who that _guy_ was sleeping with her brother?” Doniya says coyly, wagging her eyebrows and Liam swears Zayn flips her off but he merely rolls his eyes and there’s pinkness staining his cheeks.  Liam bites back a smile, nodding.

“Uhm, hungry!” Waliyha groans loudly, sighing with all the petulance of a toddler.  She throws her hands up, bouncing off the table.

“Oi, calm down Liyha.  It’s almost ready.  _Zayn_ burnt the toast _and_ the eggs.  You know your brother is a shit cook,” Doniya fusses, swatting Safaa off of her leg and returning back to the kitchen.

“Doniya!  No swear words.  I’m telling mum,” Safaa whines, running behind Zayn’s legs when Doniya snaps a dishtowel at her.

“Hey, shut it.  Mum and baba aren’t coming to get us until later.  Act proper or I’ll starve you ‘til then,” Doniya warns and Liam doesn’t hide his grin when Safaa clings to Zayn for dear life.

Zayn’s rolling his eyes again, folding his arms as Liam finds a seat at the small dining table.  He watches Zayn shoot Doniya a threatening glare before moaning out, “Brat.”

“Twat,” Doniya sings back and it’s wrapped in a loving tone.  They’re sticking their tongues out at each other and Liam rests his chin on his knuckles; he wonders if they were anything like this at Safaa’s age?  He wonders if this is all for show and that love, that bond they share runs deeper than anything that can be explained over small talk.

And, suddenly, Liam wants to be a part of this for years to come.  He doesn’t know why but he wants to be the one Safaa runs to when Zayn and Doniya argue and to be the one Waliyha cuddles up to when they watch Batman over and over again.  The one Doniya calls when Zayn is sick or the one who holds Zayn’s hand when his first niece or nephew is born.

But he won’t be.  Not in a few weeks because University starts.  Liam’s _life_ starts.  And he hasn’t prepared himself for this, for any of this.  For the friends he’s made, the pub he’s beginning to call home.  For Zayn.

He hasn’t prepared himself to walk away.

**

It takes Harry almost three days before he actually utters more than two words to Liam and it’s Louis who ends their feud by dragging Harry by the ear to Liam early into one of their shifts with an annoyed expression and it’s all, “I’m done.  I’m right knackered of this one being all stroppy because you two had a row.  Sit.  Chat.  Sort it out.  Cry.  Hug.  Break his bloody nose for all I care but I’m not gonna take one more day of this bloke acting you’re not the dog’s bullocks to him or something.  It’s a pain in my sweet rounded arse,” before Louis is stomping off, hands thrown up dramatically and Niall’s grinning from behind the bar, nodding toward the two.

Harry’s staring at the ground, kicking at a leg on the table Liam’s wiping down and just the sight of him draws a sigh from Liam’s lips.

“Are we all right?”

“Just fine,” Harry replies, words cut.

“Fancy a pint?” Liam wonders, tossing his dishtowel over his shoulder and he’s mocked by Harry’s grin when he lifts his eyes.

“Split a lemonade?” Harry offers.

Liam’s nodding, goofy grin on his own lips and it all ends just like that, arms thrown around each other as they march up to the bar, Niall clapping in a condescending way.

“I’m chuffed to bits.  Finally Louis can stop pissing about when it comes to you two,” Niall grins out, filling a glass for Liam.

Liam chuckles, tapping his knuckles on the bar before looking up at a smug Harry.  “Sorted.”

Liam holds onto that smile for what seems hours.  He’s dancing through service, scooping up dirty glasses, clearing tables with a snap in his step, and he’s tickling Harry every time he passes by.  He’s cleaning glasses behind the bar with Zayn giving him little looks, feathered smiles that Liam blushes with.  He takes a few of Eleanor’s tables, nudging Nick as he passes and he lets Harry sneak a plate of fish and chips from the kitchen for Niall while he dotes on Louis, even buying a round for El and Louis as they giggle at a pair of lads slurring their way through “We Are the Champions” on the stage, glasses raised high and missing every other word like pros.

Zayn tugs on his apron a little the next time he slides behind the bar, teeth nipping softly at his lower lip and Liam doesn’t fight the grin that fumbles over his lips.  There’s a soft slide of Zayn’s fingers over the back of his hand, subtle to anyone looking but it’s electric in blues and whites all over Liam’s body.  He thinks about tasting those pink lips, the ones that probably taste like cherry Coke and just the right sharp sting of cigarettes.  There’s a group of squealing women at Niall’s end of the bar, a grin fronted on Niall’s face but he can tell Niall’s a little annoyed with the way they keep ordering martini’s and shots of tequila.

“Did they really have to have their stinking bachelorette party here?  Seems a bit dim to me,” Eleanor sighs out when she sidles up the bar, blowing out a quick breath to push the strands of stringy brown hair that fall over her eyes.

“Jealous?” Zayn asks and he’s not touching Liam anymore; his body’s suddenly cold.

“You’ve got to be bloody well joking Zayn.  That pissed lot doesn’t bother me one bit,” Eleanor replies and there’s a dullness in her voice that comes across put on but Liam doesn’t say anything, just nods as he tries to peek over Niall to see the group.

“If you say so,” Zayn chuckles, turning from her to shake up a few drinks.

“Oh sod off,” Eleanor sighs loudly, stomping away and Liam’s nudging Zayn in the side, reprimanding him with his eyes but laughing on the inside.

He’s clearing off a few of the center tables when Harry nearly knocks into him, wide eyes and a small tugging frown on his cherry red lips.  Liam’s raising his brow, resting a hand on Harry’s shoulder but he’s a bit pale and he’s shaking his head at Liam, gripping his arm.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Liam finally asks, tossing his dishtowel onto his shoulder and he’s slowly trying to peel Harry’s pinching fingers from his arm because he’s certain they’re leaving behind purple marks he doesn’t want to glare at later on in the mirror.

Harry drags fingers through his curls, doesn’t even bother to do that _toss-toss-sweep_ move he always does to fix his hair.  He sighs again, complicated expression leaving Liam a bit cold.  He’s used to stars floating in Harry’s eyes but there’s nothing but anxiety and when Liam finally pries those fingers from his arm, Harry’s still shaking his head.

“Stay. Here,” Harry hisses, eyes even wider.

“Haz, you know bloody well that I can’t.  I’ve got to get these glasses to Niall before we run low and Nick’s getting backed up so I need to help get some of these tables sorted,” Liam says, scooping up his tub but Harry’s moving with him, blocking him.  Liam’s lowered his brow, glaring at Harry but Harry’s still shaking his head.

“Harry Styles, don’t make me shove you,” Liam warns and Harry’s face is scrunching up before he’s throwing his hands up with a loud sigh, forcefully easing aside.

“You’re more than a bit off Harry, I swear,” Liam remarks, easing by Harry and through the crowd.  He slips behind the bar, finds kind eyes behind Zayn’s lashes and he’s burning away the thoughts of Harry’s actions as best he can.  But it’s not like Harry, not at all.  He feels a shiver like the haunting melody from a piano trickling down his insides as he drops his tub onto the counter.

“Harry all right?” Zayn asks, polishing off a few more glasses.

“Sometimes I think his brain is quite duff.  God bless Louis for putting up with his shit because I need a break sometimes,” Liam replies, scratching at the back of his head as he watches Harry rush through a few tables, shooting Liam a deathly stare and it’s as if everything they did to mend their broken friendship seems to be coming unglued.

Zayn chuckles, shaking his head and Liam grabs a few clean glasses, helps Zayn while watching Niall juggle six orders at once.  He nearly drops the glass he’s drying, hands fumbling and it’s Zayn who catches the shot glass before it falls to the ground and shatters.  Thudding bass like the song above – _Call your girlfriend, it’s time you had the talk… Give your reasons, say it’s not her fault_ – hits every pressure point in his body.  He’s mouth is falling ajar, eyes wide, and suddenly he’s wishing Harry was still blocking him, _hiding_ him.

It’s the pink lips stained with gloss, the unruly curls that are brown shaded with blonde bits, striking eyebrows and smoky brown eyes that are both friendly and mysterious all at once.  Those cheek bones, high when she laughs, and that skin is satin gold with hints of mocha.  Liam can still remember his fingers there, sliding over smoothness, and he’s hitching on oxygen.  She’s all high fashion with her leopard print, black nails, and nothing like the girl he knew when she was a little younger, a little more carefree.  Martini glass spilling fluorescent green liquid onto the bar as she giggles with friends, waving down Niall like she knows him.

His world shifts sideways when she spots him and he’s not even sure what made him walk that close anyway, standing next to Niall with everything tipping over.  He wants her out of his head like she’s been for so long but he’s swallowing hard and she’s staring, lashes batting and there’s a spot of shyness that he knows so well.

“Liam,” she finally says, easing further up on the bar, smiling sweetly and he’s damning her just that quickly.

“Danielle,” he sputters out, dizzy.

“Oh Liam.” Danielle cheers, resting her drink on the bar and she’s clumsily trying to reach over the bar to touch him.  He raises a hand, lets her grip it and there’s no magnetic pull between them like it had been for so long.  So long ago.

“How are you?” he asks, not even sure he means it but she’s lighting up like fireflies against the summer night’s sky.

“I’m well.  You?”

“I’m easy,” Liam replies with a shrug and watching the way there’s slivers of honesty in her eyes reminds him of the bits of her that tore him apart.  He lets her hold his hands, fingers fitting with his and it’s nothing like the way Zayn’s fingers fit between his.  There’s an oldness, antique feel to the way they touch but there’s something natural, instinctual about the way he and Zayn touch.

“What are you doing here?” Liam finally asks and he feels Niall’s eyes on him, curious but protective.

Danielle blushes, amber rose gracing her cheeks before she’s giggling out, “One of my girls is getting married in a few days.  Drove down for this party and I’m heading back tomorrow.  Just had to celebrate something so magical, you know?”

Liam nods, but he doesn’t really.  Those dreams, the ones that she’s trying to recreate with the way she looks on him, have been dashed.

“Yeah, well, I’m on the job,” Liam notes, untangling his fingers from hers and he tries not to break like glassware when she frowns a little.  “Right.  I’ve missed seeing you though.  Glad you’ve sorted life out.”

She’s grinning again, nodding and biting her lip like a predator; not like Zayn does when he’s shy, nervous, and thoughtful.  She shakes that curly hair back, leans further on the bar and Liam’s still close, dies on the scent of her perfume and the way she still smells like lilacs in an August breeze.

“Missed you too Li-Li,” she whispers, words dancing on the edge of seductive and Liam tries not to cringe.  “Such a shame you don’t give us a bell more often.”

He drags fingers through his hair, words numb against his tongue but then she’s dangerously close now, kissing his cheek, carnal like she was whenever she wanted something from him and he’s burnt red, pulling back before she marks him with her gloss.  Her friends are giggling around her, passing her that half-empty martini glass and she’s got glassy eyes.  They’re tugging on her and she’s winking at Liam, blowing him a kiss as they make their way into the crowd of dancing patrons – _But you’ve just met somebody new_.

“Either I’m quite pissed or you’ve got an admirer,” Louis spits out, swirling onto one of the stools at the bar and Liam’s still gaping toward Danielle, the way she’s laughing with her friends and doesn’t even give Liam a second glance.

“An ex,” Liam clarifies, deep, frustrating exhale following his words.

“A one off?” Niall asks, eyebrow arched and Liam’s shaking his head, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“A mistake maybe.  A long time ago kind of thing,” Liam replies, taking his eyes from her.

“Not long enough,” Louis remarks, slurping on his glass of Jack and Coke and he’s making eyes in Zayn’s direction.

 _Zayn_. Fuck, Zayn.  Liam feels his heart trying to claw its way out of his body and he’s spinning, gutted when he finds Zayn glaring at him.  There’s spite in his eyes and the weight of it all is slamming against him.

“I need a shot,” Niall says with a whistle, turning away from them but Louis’ watching like the best scene of a movie he’s never watched, sipping slowly on his drink.

“She’s just a…”

“I need a smoke,” Zayn grumbles and Liam’s words are falling on deaf ears.  Zayn’s snatching up his leather jacket, shrugging into it even though Liam’s sure it’s still on the warm side out in the night’s air.  Zayn’s pulling a pack of cigarettes as Liam’s reaching out for him, nervous fingers sliding against the leather material before Zayn’s jerking away, peeling out of the bar and storming through the kitchen.

“Right.  That went swimmingly,” Louis says lowly, eyes down in his glass.

“Told you to stay there,” Harry remarks as he slides up to the bar, elbow resting on Louis’ shoulder as he shoots Liam a solemn look.

“He’ll be fine mate,” Niall says assuredly like he knows, like they _all_ know what’s going on between Zayn and him but the thing was, even Liam didn’t know.  He didn’t have a definition for what they were, what they _are_.  It’s just a cluttered mess of moments and Liam’s certain life is made up of more talking, more figuring out things rather than just sparks of happiness and confusion spinning around.

But he’s watching that kitchen door, waiting.  He’s waiting on Zayn to come back, relaxed, reasonable.  He doesn’t come.  In fact, it’s Niall who tells him later that Zayn wasn’t answering his calls, wasn’t talking to anyone but Louis except Louis is cuddled in a corner with Harry, tangling fingers in soft curls and ignoring the world.

He’s shit at apologies but it doesn’t matter.  Zayn doesn’t talk to him the rest of the week, doesn’t help him clean any of the tables or offer small talk as Liam restocks the bar with clean glasses.  Zayn’s in and out after every shift.  Sometimes he tugs Louis to a corner and there’s a conversation that looks more like Louis yelling at Zayn with Zayn’s jaw clenched shut, but nothing more.  And Liam waits for something, a call or maybe a message or a fucking cloud of smoke but it’s all looking away from Liam like he means nothing, like he _is_ nothing.

Harry’s nice about it all, curling up to him in bed some nights once Louis’ passed out in Harry’s bed and Niall even comes by one night with take away, a few movies, and a big bag of crisps for Liam.  He’s all floppy grin and ambivalent in a way that could be nothing less than Niall, remarkably as it sounds.  Eleanor tries to distract him but she’s pretty crappy at it because she’s got those puppy dog eyes whenever Zayn passes them, rubbing at Liam’s hands like he’s lost a family member to some tragic accident.  He spends more time trying to convince her things work out, things for Niall and her will work out rather than hearing comforting words from her.

He catches Zayn out back a few times, a cigarette dangling from his lips and all Zayn does is blow out clouds of smoke, looking up at the sky.  Liam thinks to say something but then Zayn’s eyes drop on him, head shaking and it’s that first day all over again.  He’s just some new guy to Zayn.  He’s hating himself all over again and it nearly kills him every time he walks away, head down with a sigh as Zayn keeps smoking, keeps pretending Liam’s nonexistent.

It makes it easier when Liam starts to countdown the days before he’s leaving, before he’s packing up and heading to Durham.  It’s the only consolation he has because he doesn’t have to worry about how that goodbye will feel.  And he thinks about the things he wanted before Cowell’s.  Before he was so upside down, before he thought any of this would work.  Before he’s finally getting back on track, back to that life he’d mapped out so perfectly.

That mapped out life that didn’t include Zayn Malik.

**

It’s a Saturday night and he should be out and about, partying with friends except his friends are still recovering from a long shift at Cowell’s, and he’s not really the party type.  Matter of fact, he’s not even the sit at home and a read a good book type.  But he’s a little wired, thoughts ricocheting off the walls of his brain.  His skin is hot, still a little tingly from the shower he’s just escaping.  It’s a warm night, maybe a little too thick with humidity, and he’s seated on the couch with his legs folded beneath him, and he’s sipping slowly on his cup of tea, eyes glancing occasionally to the small set of papers laid in his lap.  He rubs at his shoulder, thinks about discarding the papers and, fuck it all, where is his mind?

Liam sighs, flips open the first page of the papers, starts to scrawl in the name and other important information into a few of the boxes and pauses, nose scrunching.  He thinks about scribbling everything out, being damned for even thinking he needed to do this.

“Oi, that bugger is right knackered.  He didn’t even give me a kiss goodnight.”

Liam’s ears perk up, dipping smile folding over his lips as Louis leaps over the back of the couch and lands next to Liam with an _“oomph.”_   He’s folding up in a mess of limbs and awkward angles until one leg is resting over Liam’s, arm slung around Liam’s neck with his head half on Liam’s shoulder.  Liam taps Louis’ nose with his pen, snorts when Louis swats it away and lets out another drawn out sigh that’s more theatrical than desperate.

“It was a busy night,” Liam finally says, eyes falling back to the papers.  He thinks about covering them, tossing them over his shoulder before blue eyes fall on them but he hesitates just a little too long.

“What you got there?” Louis asks, snatching the stack from Liam’s lap and Louis has never been much of a fan of personal space or minding his own business.

Liam cringes a little when Louis’ brow lifts, eyebrow pointedly arched and his mouth his agape.  Liam drops his eyes, twiddles his fingers in his lap and his ears are heating up, swirling blush probably tinting his cheeks.

“Changing universities Liam?  Thinking of exploring other avenues of education?” Louis asks purposefully slow and with as much emphasis as he can muster.

“It’s not for me,” Liam whispers, head ducking as Louis barks out a laugh.

“Clearly, unless you just happen to have already filled out all of the paperwork to change your name to one Zayn Malik, in which case, I’d say you’re a fucking idiot,” Louis says, tapping the stack of papers against Liam’s head.

Liam sighs heavily and he’s dragging a slow hand down his face, embarrassment rolling from his shoulders to his feet.  He tips his head back, resting it against the top of the couch and he’s clinging to his last bit of dignity in his silence.

“I just… I can’t get it out of my mind.  _Him_.  The way he’s living his life for everyone else and, damn it, maybe part of me needs to get over this silly little thing.  But he deserves a chance.  He deserves something good to happen to him,” Liam rambles, chewing lightly on his lip.  He lets himself whisper, “He deserves something good to happen like he happened for _me_.”

Louis sighing and pulling on Liam, hugging his arms around Liam’s neck tightly.  “I get it.”

Liam nods, eases back with a wave of a hand.  He’s not going to get emotional about this, any of this.  It’ll just weigh him down in ways he couldn’t possibly need.

“You wanna know something?” Louis wonders, curious look on his face.

Liam shrugs, slouches onto the couch and he wants to brush it all off but Louis’ too loveable when he’s like this: childlike in the less annoying way; the more innocent way.

“Zayn got into art school before.  He had good enough grades and, despite him being a bit of an arrogant bastard, they wanted him there.  But then his dad got sick and his mum couldn’t do everything they needed to take care of his sisters by herself,” Louis explains, flipping through a few pages of the application.  There’s an almost pale sadness spreading over his face as he adds, “So Zayn took up a job here and there and made sure they had what they needed.  He didn’t go to school, sent them a nice little note thanking them and hoping one day to have things sorted out enough to attend.  That’s just him though.  Arrogant bastard with a heart.”

Louis’ unconsciously tracing a finger over the back of Liam’s hand, tilting his head a little to offer Liam a thoughtful smirk and he’s all cheeks, ruddy lips, and wild brown hair.  Liam offers a sideways smile back, nodding because he understands.  Part of him believes he’s understood for a while now and that need to fix things, to fix Zayn seems to pull a little harder on his conscience.

“And I have something to confess,” Louis sighs out, dragging lazily fingers through his hair.  “I’m in a spot of trouble.”

Liam narrows his eyes a little, eventually asking, “What’s wrong?”

“I think I’m in love with your best mate,” Louis admits, his voice a little shy and nothing like the Louis who’s loud, over-the-top, anything but shy.  His head drops into his hands and Liam’s feeling a crooked smirk pulling at the corners of his lips.

“Uh, I thought you were in love with him before you two starting whatever this is that you two do,” Liam snorts.

“Oh please, that was just a crush,” Louis groans, head still buried behind his hands.

“Infatuation?”

“You little shit, it was nothing,” Louis insists, hands dropping and his cheeks are burnt, gray-blue eyes wide.

Liam’s nodding, disbelief in his expression.  He runs a hand through Louis’ hair, leaning forward a little to whisper, “You _stared_ at him anytime you came to the pub.  You made it a point to always get his attention.  I bet you wrote his name on a dozen cocktail napkins most nights.”

“ _Fine._ I might’ve fancied that cheeky bastard.  Can you blame me?  He’s a well fit bloke and I’m in love with him, okay?” Louis fusses, painfully dramatic and there’s the Louis Liam has grown to love on most days.

Liam smiles, laying a hand on top of Louis’ hands, squeezing lightly.  “Good cause I think that cheeky bastard might love you too.”

There’s a sincere smile lighting Louis’ face, eyes crinkling and suddenly it’s Christmas in late July.  He can see the giddiness, the way Louis looks half ready to barge back into Harry’s room and confess loudly his undying adoration for those curls, large green eyes, and grin that won more battles than lost.  Liam snorts, falls back against the couch again before snatching the papers from Louis’ loose grip.  He’s holding in a sigh, eyes up to the ceiling for minutes.

“It’ll all be sorted,” Louis remarks lowly, a thumb rubbing along the side of Liam’s hand.  “I know it will be.”

“Will you help me?” Liam asks before he really thinks it through but he’s turning his head in Louis’ direction, slowly holding up the application.  He wonders how desperate his brown eyes look, how his cheeks feel like sunburn at the way he probably sounds like he’s _begging_ Louis for this.

Louis stares at him for a few beats, a thoughtful expression hovering over his face before he gives a small nod.  “I’ll swing by his flat and get his notebook so you can send in a few examples of his work.”

Liam finally exhales that sigh, a grin spreading over his lips.  He traces a hand over his freshly shorn hair, prickling hair tickling the pads of his fingers.

“And being that I’m his best mate, I’m certain any info you need to finish filling this out I can provide,” Louis adds, cheeky grin pushing at his cheeks as he snatches the application away from Liam again and Liam’s shaking his head with a smirk.

“Lou?”

That voice is dragging, deeper than usual but it’s dipped in the sweetest tone from sleep.  Liam glances past Louis to look on Harry rubbing at his eyes like a toddler, curls still perfectly placed and he’s dragging his feet the way he does when he’s half-asleep trying to pull himself together for another shift at the pub.  He’s tugging at his wrinkled T-shirt, pajama pants hanging low on his slender hips and he’s blinking at Liam and Louis tangled together.

“You coming to bed?” Harry wonders, scratching at his belly before yawning softly.  His hand slips just a little and Liam feels his nose scrunch up, rolling his eyes because he knows what that sign means: Harry’s ready for a good snogfest with Louis and it leaves Liam a little sickened.

“Oi, Haz, can’t you see I’m having a chat with dear Liam?  Do you always think with your willy first?” Louis asks loudly, annoyed expression tugging a frown from Harry’s lips and Louis’ turning away from Harry to face Liam once more, grinning manically.

“Arsehole,” Harry mumbles, dragging his feet as he stumbles back toward his bedroom.

Louis’ got a hand over his mouth to silence his giggles and Liam can’t help but gawk at him for a moment before shaking his head at Louis.

“You’re quite manic Tommo,” Liam notes.

Louis gives a small shrug, peppermint candy smirk plastered against his lips.  “I want to shag him so damn bad right now.”

Liam shoots him a face of disgust, giving him a light shove but Louis’ nearly falling over with laughter.

“Shove off Tomlinson,” Liam laughs out and Louis’ flipping him off before leaping over the couch like an Olympic hurdler, dashing off toward Harry’s room.  There's a thump, a few mumbled words, followed by a rolling moan that sounds a lot like Harry and Liam's sinking down into the couch, eyes rolling before studying the application once more.

**

Days seem to be colliding together in an endless stream of drinks, grub, loud noises, sleepless nights, smiles layered with feelings, the smell of beer, wine, and cigarettes all at once.  Harry’s been a bit anxious as the days roll on, hugging him any chance he gets and cuddling to him on the couch with Louis in Harry’s lap.  Niall’s buying him drinks he never tastes and mixing drinks he wouldn’t dare serve his kinder customers.  He’s waiting tables now, Eleanor moving up a little as more of a shift manager while Cher takes some much needed time off.  Ed’s left to tour the country with some friends and maybe that singing thing will really pay off for him.  Even Perrie’s warmed to him in the way she actually _smiles_ genuinely at him when he arrives, jokes with him, and winks at him when he gets something right.

And Zayn’s regulated to small words here and there, but nothing ever really feels the same.

His feet are sore, his shoulders a bit numb from carrying one too many trays full of mixed drinks, lagers, and endless plates of food.  It’s a Thursday night and they’ve shifted open mic night to Wednesday because, for some odd reason that’s never explained, Mr. Cowell thinks things are sorted out better on Wednesdays so the crowd wasn’t as dense tonight but it was enough.  The kitchen was a little too hot, Zoe’s a bit overwhelmed even though she’s got some new help by the name of Matt helping her out.  He seems nice enough but Liam doesn’t give him the kind of attention he gave that cherry headed lad before him.  Zayn is actually off and Perrie’s filling in, leaving Liam, Nick, and Harry to carry most of the load with Eleanor jumping in instinctually when they’re in over their heads.

Liam’s glancing around, sees the flickering smiles and the room is alive even though the pub is closed.  El’s sitting on the edge of the bar, feet kicking back and forth with a grin on her lips as Niall cleans off a few glasses, smirking at her.  She doesn’t bother to kick Louis out when they make last call, lets him linger around and he’s drumming along her thighs to the sounds of Snow Patrol – _If I lay here, if I just lay here… would you lie with me and just forget the world?_   It’s electric, the way Harry’s dancing through the room like the tempo in his head in louder, harder than the one playing through the jukebox.  Perrie’s giggling, one too many of Niall’s famous Irish Car Bombs to know left from right, pinkish hair swept up into a messy bun.  Nick’s chasing Harry around, spending the last hour of his shift getting pissed with a table of girls who all wanted his number before it was all over but they all know better; they're definitely _not_ Nick’s cup of tea.

It’s fireworks and brain freezes after one too many blueberry slushes inside of his head.  He’s rubbing at his shoulder, sighing happily when Harry stops for a moment to press a kiss to Louis’ cheek, sloppy and unwarranted.  Louis’ shouting, shoving Harry away and clutching onto Eleanor when Harry shimmies away with a howl.  He feeds off of all of it, fingers itching, heart thumping to a staccato beat and he’s unfastening the bowtie from around his neck, unbuttoning the top collar of his shirt and he’s glad he’s never as fancy when in uniform like Harry with the pocket squares, waistcoats, and shiny shoes.

“Ready to head home Li?” Harry asks when he finally stops in front of the table Liam’s seated at.

Liam sighs, fights exhaustion and he’s burning off some kind of inexhaustible flame inside of his body.  He traces his index finger over the table, drawing shapes and hearts and it’s enough.  He’s looking up at Harry, grinning while Harry’s brow knits together in thought.  He’s grin gets wider, pushing himself out of his chair and taking a few steps closer to Harry.

“Harry, go home.  Pick up a nice bottle of wine from that market a few blocks from our flat.  Cook the most magnificent meal you’ve ever thought to.  Sit on that crummy couch of ours and wait on your precious Louis until he gets there,” Liam says, hands squeezing Harry’s shoulder and giving him a little shake.  Harry’s lips are curling to say something but Liam shakes his head, tipped over grin still on his lips.  “Trust me, just go.”

Liam’s shuffling off before Harry can say much but he hears when Harry calls for him, ignores it.  He slides in front of Eleanor and Louis, his grin at high peak as he looks on Louis.  Eleanor reads his expression, smirks before spinning around and sliding behind the bar to help Niall, blushing when he nudges her with his hip and slides an arm around her waist.  Liam is beginning to fancy this new Niall, the rightly confident one.

“I need a ride somewhere,” Liam finally confesses to a curious Louis, striking down nerves with that neon spark inside of him that turns into adrenaline, a high he can’t come down from.

“Somewhere,” Louis says slowly, nodding like he understands but Liam’s certain he doesn’t.

“Trust me?” Liam requests, tugging on Louis’ too tight jeans.

“Of course mate,” Louis replies with a slippery, sickeningly contagious smile, hopping off the bar stool and fishing his keys from his pocket.  “But if we’re getting arrested, I’m not wear that awful jumpsuit.”

Liam’s laughing nervously, a little wide-eyed as he throws an arm around Louis’ shoulders and drags him from the pub before Harry can stop them.

He clears his throat when he stands outside of the door, lifting a shaky hand to knock lightly but before he knows it the knocking turns to pounding and he doesn’t care if he bruises his knuckles, he needs that door to open.

He’s a little shocked when the door does fly open, mouth falling open because Zayn is there, sweats hanging loosely off his slender hips and he’s shirtless, dark hair pulled backwards like he’s just escaped the shower.  Liam’s eyes travel his body, over the tattoos etched around his collarbone, just on the edge of his shoulder.  He follows the soft planes of his chest, nothing well fit like Liam’s but it still had tone, a sleekness that Liam enjoys.  Warm gold skin tone with a smooth stomach, dark hairs that slip from just beneath Zayn’s navel down into his sweats.  His eyes are a gorgeous array of browns and copper, peering at him with questions running through them, long lashes and fixed eyebrows.  That usual scruff is lighter, barely there but Liam can still see it along Zayn’s upper lip, just along the ridge of Zayn’s chin.

“Liam?”

Liam’s shaken at the sound of his voice, a little groggy and Liam’s certain he’s awaken Zayn but his adrenaline is at its peak, his energy a sparkling bundle of swiftly moving thoughts and feelings.  He clears his throat again, softer, and he watches Zayn lick his lips, giving him a once over that’s supposed to rattle Liam but it doesn’t.

“Kiss me again,” Liam blurts out, bites the tip of his tongue lightly when the words pass but he doesn’t regret them.  He’s running on empty and when Zayn arches an eyebrow, almost daring him, Liam says, “Kiss me again like the last time I was here.  I want you to.”

“You want me to kiss you?” Zayn asks, leaning off the doorway, folding his arms over his chest.  He’s shooting Liam an incredulous look, lips twisting sideways.

“Yes,” Liam replies a little shakily, deep inhale to garner courage.

“You’re about as manic as that poor Lou,” Zayn says with a small laugh, shaking his head.

“Which is fine.  I’m okay with that.  But I’m not okay with just letting this handsome boy that I’ve kind of been obsessed with since my first day at that stupid pub getting away from me.  I’m not okay with you walking away, no matter what your reasons may be.  So, no, I’m not leaving until you kiss me,” Liam confesses, taking two steps forward and he’s still not even across the threshold.  But his hands are at his sides and Zayn’s not moving, just glaring at him.

Zayn shakes his head again, sucking in his bottom lip.  “This is what you came here for?”

“Yes,” Liam exhales out, sturdy confidence losing some of its foundation when Zayn’s eyes get a little wide, unyielding.  Liam sighs, boxing with defeat, lifting a hand to drag over his hair before he’s admitting, “I want you to kiss me, Zayn.  Even if it is goodbye because I’m leaving for Uni and you don’t want to be around me anymore.  Kiss me.  Please.”

He’s waiting for a no, waiting for Zayn to shut the door in his face.  He’s waiting for Zayn to yell at him, finally release all of that anger he’s been walking around for far too long now.  And he can see it in Zayn’s eyes; he doesn’t want to do this, doesn’t want to even humor Liam in the slightest.

“Please,” Liam pleads softly, his face falling when Zayn’s eyes harden a little.

Zayn’s sighing, looks as if he’s finally about to shove Liam away and then there’s a hand lifted, curling around the back of Liam’s head and dragging him the full distance inside as Zayn forces his lips against Liam’s.  Liam’s taken aback, breathing hitched but Zayn’s eyes are closed and he’s kissing with more force than last time.  He’s not testing the boundaries, the feel.  He’s kissing Liam like this is all they’ve done all their lives, lips sliding over Liam’s like fingers over the surface of water.

Zayn’s fingers are curling against Liam’s scalp, looking for something to clutch but there’s nothing there.  They shift a bit, Zayn kicking the door shut and Liam can’t help but fasten his arms around Zayn’s midsection, fingers digging into the skin of Zayn’s back.  Their lips fit better than any article of clothing Liam’s ever wore, breathing heavy and the gentleness slides in right before Zayn’s mouth is opening, tongue sliding wetly over Liam’s.  The taste of cigarettes is dulled by passion fruit, maybe raspberries, peppermint toothpaste that Liam loves.  His hands rest on Zayn’s hips, lets Zayn shuffle them further into the apartment until they’re bumping into the coffee table, Zayn laughing against his lips.

Everything cools over him, Zayn angling their heads until the kiss deepens.  Zayn’s rubbing at the back of his neck, nipping at his lower lip with a grin.  Liam’s sighing, satisfied, rubbing gentle circles over Zayn’s hip while his other hand scrambles up Zayn’s back until his fingers are thrust into Zayn’s hair, combing through it.  Zayn’s tongue massages the roof of his mouth and their bodies are gently pressed together, Zayn’s hips rolling slowly and Liam _feels_ every bit of Zayn’s erection against his stomach when Zayn steps onto his tiptoes.

Zayn peels back, gentles a thumb over Liam’s bottom lip, rubbing it softly.  Liam’s certain his eyes are blown wide, his breathing a bit labored but that tingle just on the edge of his stomach leaves him dazed.  And Zayn’s rubbing his cheek with the back of his index finger, gentle and caring as he grins at Liam.

“That’s all you wanted?” Zayn inquires, head tilting to the side.  He’s got mischievous eyes and a grin rivaling the fucking Cheshire cat on his face.

Liam thinks to nod, but he hesitates.  It’s not all.  He wants more, fingers sliding against Zayn’s scalp and his hair is so soft, all that wondrous product removed and Liam’s close enough to smell the fragrance of Zayn’s shampoo – some sort of cherry blossoms scent.

“No, it’s not,” Liam finally admits, warmed by the way Zayn’s smile becomes softer, pliant against his lips.  “But it’s a start.”

“That it is,” Zayn whispers, leaning in for another kiss that Liam meets him halfway for.

Liam’s a little bit of the aggressor this time, hands possessively on the sides of Zayn’s face, his tongue slipping in first this time.  He can’t help himself, grinding his hips to Zayn’s and he’s blushing because Zayn makes a quiet noise when their erections rub against one another through far, far too much clothing.  He’s biting gently against Zayn’s lips, soft and slow kisses pacifying his need to savor this moment.  He licks at Zayn’s teeth, pecks at the corners of Zayn’s mouth, and Zayn’s pulling at his shirt, almost tearing it but Liam’s too involved in the kiss to stop him.

“Zayn,” Liam says gently, pulling back but Zayn’s following him, keeping him close while trying to steal a few more kisses.  He keeps pulling back, nibbling on his bottom lip until Zayn freezes, concern on the horizon.

“Yeah?”

“I, I don’t,” Liam’s feeling embarrassed, cheeks full blown red and he’s ducking his head when Zayn peers at him curiously.

“I’ve never… I mean I’ve _thought_ about it more than a few times, but I’ve never, you know, with a man,” Liam admits slowly, tries not to stutter when Zayn looks at him with those eyes.  He sighs dramatically, running his fingers on the inside of Zayn’s arm before adding, “But I want to.  I honestly do.  Just haven’t sorted out exactly _how_ or _what_ I’m supposed to do.”

Zayn’s nodding, tickled grin on his face.  He licks his lips, dangerously erotic even though he knows Zayn’s not trying to be, and he’s asking, “Haven’t you, you know, watched any porn?  Seen a good shag scene at the cinema?”

Liam feels the blush deepen, face scrunching.  “Yeah.  But it’s not like that.”

“Kinda is,” Zayn laughs out, trickling fingers down the back of Liam’s head, over his neck.  “Well, maybe not all of them but you get the point.”

“It’s not the same Zayn,” Liam groans, dropping his hands from Zayn but Zayn’s still threateningly close, fingers moving everywhere on Liam.

“There are no rules, Liam.  We don’t have to do things a certain way.  It doesn’t have to be anything by the book, not with us,” Zayn assures him and now those touches were comforting in ways he didn’t know Zayn knew how to do.

 _Us_ , he thinks, like the way it feels against the roof of his mouth.  It doesn’t sound fictional in his head, not the way his past relationships had been and when did he start thinking of this thing with Zayn as a relationship?

“I can teach you.  You’re already good at this kissing thing,” Zayn notes, pulling on Liam’s hips until they’re chest to chest, foreheads pressed against each other.

“I’ve had girlfriends before Zayn,” Liam sighs out and Zayn doesn’t even flinch.

“So I’ve seen,” Zayn says and Liam _does_ flinch because he doesn’t want that subject to be sore forever, but it kind of is right now.  Yet Zayn’s grinning, devilish, eases a slow kiss to Liam’s lips that tears him to pieces.

Zayn’s undoing his shirt, button by button, with kisses that turn from sloppy and wet to casual comfort against Liam’s soul.  Liam’s holding Zayn’s chin, pressing soft lips against chapped ones when his shirt falls open, Zayn carefully pushing it off his shoulders and they’re parting just long enough for Liam to muscle his way out of the rest of the shirt.  Zayn’s eyeing his chest and Liam’s building enough confidence not to blush, not to be overwhelmed by the way Zayn looks at him like he _wants_ something.

Zayn’s nimble fingers slide lightly over the skin of his chest, a thumb pressing on a nipple, running the indentations of the muscles on Liam’s stomach, over the taut skin on his sides.  Zayn’s looking up into his eyes, curled smile on his lips.

“This is what you want?”

“Definitely, mate,” Liam replies, voice a little choked but he’s nodding for assurance.

“Because we can just chill,” Zayn whispers, easing forward again but his words mean nothing when Zayn is unsnapping his trousers, slowly and there’s a question rippling in dark eyes.

“This is chillin’,” Liam grins, teeth nipping down on his lower lip.  He nods for Zayn, a hand tracing over Zayn’s neck while his other helps Zayn undo his trousers.  He sweeps forward, stealing a quick kiss from Zayn that leaves the other man snorting.

“Do you want to go to the bedroom?” Zayn wonders, the flaps of Liam’s pants undone and Zayn’s hooking his thumbs into his sweats, pulling them out and down a little.

“No,” Liam says flatly and Zayn’s stopping, face wrinkling a bit.  Liam’s quickly shaking his head, hand raised to run over Zayn’s chest, smoothness just beneath the pads of his fingers.  He swallows before adding, “ _Here_.  Here is fine.”

Zayn eventually grins again, nodding.  He’s slipping out of his sweats, boxer briefs beneath a nice charcoal color and Liam watches him for a moment, the coolness, the suave, the way his erection is twisted sideways and the imprint in those boxer briefs leaves Liam’s throat a little dry.  Zayn’s waving a hand at Liam, snickering when Liam shyly slips out of his trousers, stumbling a little and he’s not graceful about it at all while trying to kick off his shoes and peel off his socks.

“Come here,” Zayn’s requests with a small, pitchy laugh.  He’s reaching out with a hand, taking Liam’s and Liam loves the way their fingers naturally twist and tangle together, fitting between the open spaces.  Zayn’s in his space, crowding him, but he doesn’t mind.  There’s a hand in the little dip on the small of his back, chewed out smile on Zayn’s lips before he’s burying his head in the crook of Liam’s neck.

Those first few kisses are shiver-inducing, Liam’s nervous fingers sweep over tan skin as if he’s never touched it before.  His thumbs dance over Zayn’s shoulder blades, fingers levelling down and Zayn’s own fingers are rubbing into the back of his neck, small nails biting for a second.  There’s tentative touches along the waistband of Zayn’s underwear and Zayn’s guttural moan against his neck has Liam sighing.

Zayn’s lips are tickling his skin, sucking gently at the base of his neck and they’re leaving small marks he’s certain, inking his skin in burgundy and pale red.  Liam buries his nose in Zayn’s hair, small gasps when Zayn licks at the birthmark on his neck, lips travelling on their own wild adventure to his collarbone.  Liam fists a hand into Zayn’s hair, tangling, his other hand massaging at that point between shoulder and neck.

“Liam,” Zayn whispers against a spot his lips have just finished bruising and the warm air against the cool surface makes Liam harder than he’s ever been.

“Up,” Liam pleads, pulling on Zayn’s hair gently and Zayn’s chuckling, pulling up with dark eyes.  Liam’s swallowing back pants, carving fingers over that svelte cheek, heart pounding before he says, “Just need you to kiss me again.  Okay?”

Zayn nods, “Sure,” before grabbing the back of Liam’s head, dragging him forward.

Liam has to take a deep inhale before Zayn’s lips fold over his.  His fingers tangle in the waistband, tugging downward and he doesn’t bother to look down when Zayn’s cock slips out.  He feels it against his belly, tongue slithering over Zayn’s dangerously slow and purposeful.  He grins when Zayn moans into his mouth, rivers shifting and breaking against the barriers.

He’s doing this to Zayn.  He’s making Zayn hard, throbbing, and nerves try to suffocate him when Zayn carefully pulls down the front of Liam’s boxers, Liam breaking the kiss to guide them the rest of the way down.  He curls on the inside when Zayn licks his lips, eyes getting smaller and there’s a rolling lust sketched into Zayn’s grin.

Zayn’s pushing them Liam backward, gentle with a hand on Liam’s back to guide him downward onto the couch.  Liam keeps a loose hold on Zayn’s hips, kicking off his boxers while Zayn bruises his lips with a few more kisses, two, three; he loses count.  Liam’s hand finds the back of Zayn’s neck, doesn’t let him pull too far away from his lips as Zayn gently straddles Liam’s hips, cock running over the planes of Liam’s stomach while Liam’s own hardness fits itself so conveniently in the space just behind Zayn’s balls.

“This okay?” Zayn asks right against Liam’s lips, little touches with his fingers calming Liam’s breathing.

“Yeah.  I think so,” Liam breathes out, hands dancing over Zayn’s sides, over his spine, just a little lower.  Zayn halts a little, weary and Liam quickly adds, “This is perfect, Zayn.  Yeah, perfect.”

That slick grin returns, flames still flickering in Zayn’s eyes before he’s leaning down again for more kisses, painfully breathtaking ones that Liam has to pull away from after a few beats because he’s incredibly hard against Zayn and everything in the room is spinning.

“Can I touch you?” Zayn inquires but Liam’s certain Zayn knows he can.  He has to.

“Please,” Liam requests, skittering fingers over Zayn’s cheeks, his ear, slipping over the clipped hair on the side of Zayn’s head.  “Don’t stop.”

Zayn nods, teasing smile this time as his hands run over Liam’s stomach and he’s lifting his hips up until Liam’s cock fits between their bodies.  His thumb sweeps over the head, fingers gently pulling at the foreskin and Liam’s fucking _trembling_ with the light touches.  Zayn’s experimental, a small tug, a finger swirling over the head until Liam’s wet, his thumb pressed to the underside of Liam’s cock.

Zayn’s not heavy against him but he’s warm, the kind he gets drinking tea in September just before it gets a little too chilly outside and the leaves turn colors.  His hands run the length of Zayn’s thighs, massaging the inner most part and Zayn’s breathy above him, still stroking Liam.  His speed changes, slow and light to rough and just the right pressure that Liam’s toes curl.

Liam drags Zayn into a kiss, hands on either side of Zayn’s face and everything is edging into a sweet blur.  Zayn’s really pulling, massaging his cock and Liam’s keening against Zayn’s lips.  His teeth bite down on Zayn’s bottom lip, growl pulling from deep in Zayn’s chest and Liam can’t think of anything but pulling sounds like that from Zayn all night.

“Don’t think me daft or anything mate, but,” Zayn starts hand releasing Liam’s cock until it slaps against his stomach.  Liam’s eyes peek open, chest heaving, looking up into Zayn’s face.  “I want to do a little more than touch you.”

Liam’s brow wrinkles, eyes afire, mouth open.  Zayn’s nodding, not saying much else but he’s slipping off of Liam, hands on Liam’s knees to yank his legs apart.  Liam’s not sure where his mind goes for a minute but then Zayn’ on his knees, hand back on Liam’s cock and his head is bowing.

The first lick rolls against his spine like the first few flakes of snow in late November.  Liam wants to watch, does until Zayn’s tongue curls around the head, but his head falls back and hits the couch hard.  He wants to see stars, focus on the ceiling with his fingers pinching into the cushions of the couch.  Zayn’s not very tentative about this; soft lips, hot mouth, small moans as he takes Liam further and further.  There’s a slow drawl of wetness as Zayn’s mouth crawls back, suckling the tip of his cock.  His throat is dry, Zayn’s _isn’t_.  He thumps a fist against the back of the couch when Zayn pulls him in, too far, and Liam shudders a moan from deep in his belly.

Zayn’s got a hand on his hip because Liam’s a fucking amateur and his hips keep bucking, keep seeking out that warm mouth.  Zayn’s other hand is in the midsection of his cock, tugging back foreskin, stroking him gently.  He peeks downward, wishes he didn’t because the way Zayn’s long lashes are curled against his cheek, cheeks hollowed out, just the slightest glimpse of pink tongue when Zayn’s off of him for air leave him sunburned and raped of oxygen.

“Close,” Liam whispers, doesn’t know how because he’s certain his throat is too dry for the word to slip out.  Zayn’s eyes bat open, lips wet with a shiny smirk.  Zayn rubs at his nose, nods, squeezing intently at Liam’s cock.  He’s still stroking but Liam’s reaching for him, hands gripping Zayn’s shoulders.

Zayn reluctantly crawls up Liam, still holding him in a loose sheath of fingers and saliva slickness.  Liam presses pecks to Zayn’s lips, swift and never lingering ones.  He’s gently pushing Zayn back against the couch, flattening him with his head propped on the arm of the couch and Liam’s finally looking at Zayn’s naked form freely.

Liam’s fingers dance over the Arabic writing on Zayn’s collar, down over brown nipples, a tight stomach.  Zayn’s beautiful and Liam’s blushing at the thought alone.  There’s a throbbing cock bouncing from a neatly shaven patch of raven hair, foreskin already slipping back and the head of Zayn’s cock is wet, dripping.  Liam swallows, knows every chance he gets he runs, but not this time.  He’s got a blurring techno beat in his head, hands curling around Zayn’s cock to hold it, test the contrast between soft skin and hard muscle.

“Li,” Zayn hisses, eyes squeezed shut with a hand sliding down Liam’s forearm.

Liam’s careful, alarms going off in his head, as he slowly laps at the head.  Its building, buried anticipation and that thick arousal that starts at the pit of his stomach and climbs.  Liam swallows hard, Zayn’s cock sliding against the roof of his mouth and, for some reason, he remembers _‘no teeth’_ in the back of his mind and curls his lips around the thickness.

“Fuck, Li,” Zayn keens, Liam grinning.  He likes the way Zayn says it, unlike the endearing, brotherly way Harry says it.  And the way Zayn’s a little shy about moaning, trying to keep that demeanor that everyone knows but Liam can see the cracks along the edge.  It’s different with Liam, always has been.

There’s a bitterness when he tastes Zayn’s wetness, lets it slide thickly against the back of his throat but then it’s sweet like pomegranate, hot and slick.  He doesn’t make it as far as Zayn but he’s good at using his hand like Zayn was, pulling and stroking like it’s his own cock.  It almost feels the same way, the weight, the thickness closer to the base, the head and his tongue is pressing gently against the slit.  Zayn’s hand is on the back of his head, never pushing but guiding and Zayn has a bit more control than Liam did.  There’s an iron strictness to how he’s softer with Liam, cautious but still blindingly sexy all at once.

“The head,” Zayn coos, his jaw going slack when Liam obliges and circles his tongue around the tip of Zayn’s cock, holding the foreskin back while Zayn releases a long exhale.  “You’re amazing.”

Liam tries not to blush, ducks his eyes from the sight of Zayn lazily dragging fingers over his own chest, crumbling a little beneath Liam.  Thin fingers slide over his cheek, feel the indentation of the cock that’s pressing against the side of Liam’s mouth and Liam’s smiling, slurping backward.

“Need you, Li.  Get up here,” Zayn demands but it almost sounds like a plea.  But not from Zayn; Zayn’s not desperate like Liam.

Liam scrambles up, giggles with Zayn because their fingers are on each other’s faces, touching and soothing.  Zayn kisses him slowly, nothing like the kisses before.  This one is laced with adoration, gentleness that’s painfully wonderful against Liam’s head.  Liam trails his thick fingers through Zayn’s hair, quaking when Zayn grabs his cock again and Zayn’s hand is still slick, sliding so smoothly over Liam’s erection.  Liam’s head falls to the side, stomach coiling when Zayn’s lips trickle over his neck.

“Yes,” Zayn hisses when Liam finally grabs him, strokes him faster than Zayn’s hand.  His thumb works over the head, kisses gentled against Zayn’s temple.  There’s sweat along their bodies and Zayn’s hand keeps slipping off of Liam’s shoulder every time it tries to make purchase.

Zayn’s whispering against his skin, lips dancing like the flame from a candle.  Their legs tangle and Liam cradles the back of Zayn’s neck, kissing along his jaw, over his Adam’s apple.  His hand is getting slicker, Zayn’s cock wetter, and he can feel the freckled love bites Zayn starts to leave on his shoulder.

Zayn pushes him back and down into the cushions, eyes a bit feral but Liam can still see the glittering portions of gold shifting through the brown.  He swallows a few breaths, moaning a little freer when Zayn starts to match Liam’s tugging.  His toes are curled and he’s biting down on his bottom lip, watching Zayn’s swollen pink lips repeat his name over and over like a foreign prayer.

“Give it to me Li,” Zayn orders, leaning his head down until they’re nose-to-nose.  It’s terrifyingly erotic, swallowing every one of Zayn’s pants, head nodding nervously.  Zayn whispers, “Let me feel you.”

His stomach is on fire, that anticipation building like an inferno.  Zayn’s fingers dance around the tip of Liam’s cock, thumb running the corner of Liam’s mouth and Liam turns his head a little, tongue licking out before biting down gently, shivering as he finally comes in Zayn’s hand.  His eyes barely stay open, the waves crashing against his stomach like a tidal wave.  He’s shuddering, breaths deep and labored and Zayn’s grinning, his eyes soft again.

“You,” Liam pleads, hands gripping along the head of Zayn’s still pulsing cock.  “Please.  On me.”

Zayn’s eyes get a bit wide but then he’s nodding slowly, pulling his hand from Liam’s cock and covering the one Liam has on him.  Liam tips his head back, coos at the wetness of Zayn’s hand, his own come sliding between Zayn’s fingers, over the back of Liam’s hand.  They’re moving together and there’s no talking Liam off the edge.  He’s not walking away from this.  He’s not walking away from the way Zayn’s face somehow becomes angelic, haloed dust of light from the lamp coating Zayn’s face in whites and shadows.

Zayn chokes out a little moan when he finally comes over Liam’s stomach, eyes narrowed, and his lips stay parted for a long time.  It’s thick, wet, warm against Liam’s belly for seconds.  The weight of Zayn doesn’t crush Liam and, somehow, they fit themselves in the small space available on the couch.  Zayn’s lips are on his chest, panting out breaths, small kisses here and there while Liam strokes Zayn’s back.  They don’t speak, not for a while, and there’s nothing painful about it.  He cuddles to the thought of being like this with Zayn for as long as he can, naked, spent, and terribly happy.  It scars him and he’s willing to wear it like a badge of honor.

“Bedroom,” Zayn requests, the word a bit muffled because his lips are still against Liam’s skin but Liam nods, pushes up with Zayn struggling to untangle himself from Liam.

Liam starts but Zayn grabs his hand first, links their fingers and Liam looks down at it, the way it looks so right.  He glances up, Zayn’s teeth holding the tip of his bottom lip in.  There’s a smile beating on the corners of Zayn’s mouth and Liam blinks, once, twice, smiles back.

“We can shower a little later but right now,” Zayn breathes out, all that coolness and _‘I don’t give a shit’_ demeanor subsiding, “I just want to get in my bed.  With you.  Want you to be next to me.  Yeah?”

Liam grins, can’t help it, nodding slowly.  He tempers off the shyness, tugging Zayn forward to press a kiss to Zayn’s cheek.  He still hasn’t found words, thoughts wrestling and crumpled, but he lets Zayn lead the way toward the bedroom.  He doesn’t release Zayn’s hand, not even when Zayn pulls the sheets back and they’re sliding into the bed together.

They lie there for a long time, Zayn on his side with Liam pressed to his back.  Zayn’s fingers are playing with Liam’s over his shoulder and Liam keeps tracing small kisses along the fantail that’s tattooed on the back of Zayn’s neck.  Their legs are tangled together beneath the sheets, Zayn’s toes rubbing gently over the top of Liam’s foot.  Liam’s smiling against Zayn’s neck when Zayn snuggles back, tries to trap himself in as much of Liam’s heat as possible.

“I did something,” Liam says shyly, curses himself because Zayn shifts, rolls over and they’re face to face when Liam adds, “Something I hope you don’t kill me for.”

“Murder is a bit farfetched for me, maybe not Lou though,” Zayn jokes but he’s still looking at Liam like he’s waiting for the shoe to drop, for things to get a bit more messy.

“There’s an art school nearby.  A good one.  I… I sent in an application, for you.  Got Louis to help me fill it out and,” Liam pauses, watches the way Zayn’s face stays perfectly still, studying him.  He exhales hard, “They loved your stuff Zayn.  They’re willing to offer you a scholarship to help with things and, I know you’re worried about your family, but I want this for you.  You _deserve_ this.”

Zayn’s biting down on his lower lip, thoughtful expression wrinkling his face and Liam’s twisting his lips sideways, waiting for Zayn to kick him out.  He scratches at the back of his head and waits a few beats before pulling at the sheets, deciding it wasn’t worth Zayn throwing him out.  He’d leave on his own.

“You did this because you want me to be happy?” Zayn asks and it’s the first time Liam’s noticed Zayn’s fingers curled around his wrist, stopping him from crawling over Zayn and out of the bed.

Liam nods shyly, sinking back down onto the bed a little.  He confesses, “Louis told me why you didn’t go last time.  And please don’t kill the little twat because he was just trying to help.  Harry would be terribly devastated if something happen to him.

Zayn snorts a little at the joke, releasing Liam’s wrist to trace up his forearm, fingers trickling over the hair there.

“Scholarship, hmm?” Zayn asks, easing down onto the bed.  Liam joins him, curling his fingers into Zayn’s hair.  “Mum would be thrilled to know I was doing something with my life.”

Liam grins, resting his chin on Zayn’s shoulder.  His eyes are glowing like Christmas lights along houses in Wolverhampton.  There’s an introspective smile resting on pink lips and Liam wants to kiss them, hesitates.

“I don’t want you to go,” Zayn whispers, eyes still on the ceiling.  His smile dips a little.

“I can stay the night.  I’m sure Harry and Louis want some alone time anyway, probably to shag on my bed and –“

“Liam, I don’t want you to leave, period,” Zayn interjects and there’s a solemnness to his voice that Liam refuses to get used to.  “Not for University.  Not for your parents.  Not to start this life when I just figured out how much I love you being here.”

Liam blinks, doesn’t find the right words.  He doesn’t confess to Zayn that, secretly, he doesn’t want to leave either.  He hasn’t wanted to since that second week and, now, he’s trying to will those thoughts away hourly.

They lay there, quiet, arms around each other until Zayn kisses Liam backward, rolls on top of him with his nose nuzzling to the crook of Liam’s neck.  Liam keeps his arms fastened around Zayn’s back, hands rubbing soothingly along Zayn’s back.  He whispers his dreams, where he wanted to be when he was younger, how great his mum’s cooking is and how much his father loves watching the Super Bowl with him every January.  He talks softly about Danielle, where it all went wrong, admits to being jealous of Perrie, how he worries about always being the responsible one, the level-headed one.  He talks until Zayn’s sleeping quietly with his head against Liam’s chest, Liam’s fingers tangled in Zayn’s hair.

They don’t talk about Liam leaving or the way Liam’s heart is aching just holding Zayn.  It goes silently until Liam’s eyes are too heavy to leave open and stare at Zayn.  And just before he succumbs to that sleep, he wonders how many more nights Zayn will listen to him before Liam has to crawl out of bed, steal away into the bathroom, and sob over letting this one man seep into his heart when that was never in the plan.

**

The days feel like large drops of rain mid-summer, painfully depressing in the way they steal glimpses of the sun.  They’re early for their shift, the air outside warm and thick with the excitement of another Wednesday night.  Liam and Harry are sitting on the hood of Harry’s car, feet kicking back and forth smiling at the sky.  Harry hasn’t even done up his bowtie yet and Liam’s forgotten to button his top collar, letting the shifting breeze whiff through Harry’s curls and dip beneath Liam’s shirt to cool his chest.

Harry sighs, grin tipping a little before he turns his wide green eyes on Liam.  “Would you be mad if I told you something?”

Liam snorts, eyes still up on the sky, the way the clouds roll over peacock-like blue skies.  “Depends.”

Harry nods, playfully kicking one of Liam’s feet.  He tickles a hand over Liam’s forearm and Liam arches an eyebrow, giving Harry a look.  There’s something mad about the way Harry grins, boyish and yet it’s still Harry.

“I think I’m in love with Louis,” Harry finally says, his voice losing some of that normal buoyance.  It’s percolated with nerves and shyness, just like a child.  “Almost certain.”

Liam nods, holding in a laugh but his face says it all.  “Took you this long?”

Harry gives him a light shove, booming laughter falling out of him.  Liam rolls his eyes, leans back a little on the hood to look at the sky again.

“I don’t know, mate.  I was scared shitless to admit it I guess.  It’s probably been for a while but, you know, it’s _me._   And fucking Louis Tomlinson.  What on the earth, right?” Harry gushes, long sigh following.  Liam glances at him again, reads the muddled confusion that’s hiding the smile Harry wants to release.  Admitting it aloud seems to make the difference.

“He loves you too,” Liam notes, chewing on the inside of his mouth.  It feels oddly familiar, like a conversation he's had before, replacing Harry with Louis.

“Yeah?”

Liam nods briskly, laughs because Harry’s right – what on the earth?

“Would you be mad if I didn’t go to Uni this term?” Liam asks, eyes back on the sky.  He doesn’t want to see how large Harry’s eyes get or the way he’s probably frowning.

“You’d be a daft fool not to.  Have you gone completely mad this summer?  Keeping secrets, becoming friends with _Perrie_ of all people, cutting your hair off, and, fuck, Li, you’ve got to go.  Your parents will lose it,” Harry drags out, pulling fingers through his curls until they’re a bit out of place.  Harry fixes them quickly and Liam grins; still the same Harry Styles.

“Perrie and I are _not_ friends.  She _tolerates_ me and I pretend she's a good person.  And my parents understand,” Liam admits, small shrug following.  He’s trying to seem indifferent but the looks Harry is giving him leave him swallowed up in his concerns.  Guilty as charged.

“They already know?” Harry hisses, narrowed eyes and a curl to his upper lip leaving Liam to roll his eyes and pat Harry’s hunched shoulder.

“Told them two days ago.  They had a right fit at first but, I think they get it.  I think _I_ finally get it,” Liam says, exhaling freely.  He’s not everyone’s hero and he’s accepting that, slowly and with as much struggle as possible, but it works for him.

Harry nods, exterior calming and he shrugs before running a hand over Liam’s head.  Liam swats it away, tickling smirk on his red lips.

“I’m in love with Zayn,” Liam states, doesn’t hiccup it out like he thought he would, doesn’t budge when Harry nearly falls off the car.  He shakes his head when Harry smacks his arm, smile wider than a river on those red lips, dimples flaring.  “I’m not going to Durham.  I already spoke with the offices.  Applied to the same Uni you’re going to.  I’m gonna stick around, work a few more months here I guess until the next term starts up.  It’ll be closer to the art school Zayn’s going to be attending and, I don’t know, I guess I kinda like this place enough to actually make it my home.”

Liam’s scratching at the side of his head when Harry does fall off the car this time but it’s not by accident.  Harry’s leaping up, swallowing Liam in those too big arms, mess of curls in Liam’s eyes and he’s laughing as Harry hugs him tightly.  He gives Harry’s back a few small pats, feels Harry’s grin against his forehead.

Harry yanks back suddenly, brow knit together.  “But you’ll be behind.”

“I’m smarter than you; I’m sure I’ll catch up,” Liam laughs out and he dodges the shove Harry tries.  He chuckles when Harry stumbles, curls swept out of place again.

“Does _he_ know?” Harry questions, _swish-swish-sweep_ to fix everything again.

Liam shakes his head, shyness creeping.  He twiddles his thumbs, elbows on his knees.  “Gonna tell him tonight.  Everything.”

“ _Everything?_ ” Harry asks, knowing grin on his lips.

“Everything Haz.  I don’t think he’ll run when I tell him I love him.  I hope not,” Liam admits, slumping forward.

Harry chuckles, rubbing gently at Liam’s shoulder.  It’s comforting in the only way Harry knows how to be.

“Louis thinks he’s in love with you, you know.  Tells me all the time,” Harry says loftily, head tilting as he grins at Liam.

Liam looks up, eyes wide, and Harry’s nodding, a smile poking at the corners of Liam’s mouth.  He never thought so, didn’t think it’d happen.  But maybe it did.  Maybe he was so involved in his own fears he didn’t notice that the way Zayn kisses him, touches him, lets Liam play in his hair when no one else can, laughs into his shoulder or always finds a way to connect pieces of them, whether anyone was watching or not, is the way he shows love?  Because Zayn kisses him like a man in love, holds his hand like a man falling, lets Liam slide into him with Zayn pressed to the wall of his bedroom like someone who’s been in love long before Liam was given this chance.

And Liam can’t hide that grin when he and Harry slip inside of the pub, the Righteous Brothers pumping through the jukebox, and Zayn leaning against the bar watching Liam and Liam only with a smile.

**

It’s early October, the leaves gold and scarlet, the air a lot chillier, and Mr. Cowell’s decided to give his staff an early Christmas present – closing the pub just before seven so he can celebrate his birthday without worrying about the place going up in flames.

Harry’s in a corner booth, feet propped up with books scattered across the table, a newspaper in hand as he reads instead of studying.  He only works at the pub on the weekends now, spending his weeks in class or with Louis.  He’s got a University jumper on, peeking over his newspaper occasionally to look on the others are they clean up and laugh at the new barback, Joe, struggle to handle it all.

Louis’ at the bar, grinning as Niall drops a third cherry into his Jack and Coke, clinking it against Niall’s pint of bitter.  Those suspenders are fastened, chinos still way too tight and rolled up, and he’s kicking his Tom’s back and forth.  Eleanor’s behind the bar, arms wrapped around Niall’s neck as he crows out, “Salute!” before downing half of his glass as Louis sips at his drink poshly.

Perrie’s gone, touring the northern part of the country now with a couple of her friends, some makeshift music group they put together in hopes of making it big.  She’s replaced by a foulmouthed, younger girl coincidentally named Cher who’s got just as many tattoos as Zayn and all the charisma that’s left since Harry stopped picking up as many shifts.

Ed stops in occasionally, mainly talking to Harry about finally scoring some kind of publishing deal and becoming quite the sensation on YouTube and he always outdrinks Niall, leaving Eleanor to clean up the mess.  Zoe’s still in the kitchen, joined by an elderly, kind woman named Mary, and she’s swatting at Liam every time he sneaks in to steal some bangers and mash for Niall but it’s all motherly, the way she slides him a bowel of raspberries and pomegranates for Zayn, and smiles on him like she knows everything he doesn’t say to her.

Liam’s in the middle of the floor, a few of the tables pushed out of the way, Zayn’s arms around his neck with Liam’s large hands holding onto Zayn’s hips.  He’s got the first few buttons of his shirt undone, waistcoat thrown aside somewhere and Zayn’s got his letterman jack hanging off a chair, white T-shirt clinging tightly to his skin, tattoos peeking out.  Liam’s sleeves are rolled up and, every once in a while, Zayn traces his index finger over the tattoo etched along Liam’s forearm – _‘Everything I wanted but nothing I’ll ever need.’_   He chews on his bottom lip when Zayn etches his thumb over the tattoo darkening his other forearm, four arrows all moving in uniform and he wonders if Zayn remembers the words he whispered to him the first night he got it – _‘It’s about you lot, the four of my best mates.  And the first one?  That’s you.  You’re always first in my life, Zayn.’_

They’re moving slowly even though the music above isn’t and he can hear Sia – _I’m bulletproof, nothing to lose.  Fire away, fire away._   He’s got that tipped up grin on his lips, Zayn biting gently against his bottom lip as he tries to stay in time with Liam.  Liam chuckles, guides them across the floor and it’s a little clumsy but that’s the way Liam likes it with Zayn.

“Told you I can’t dance,” Zayn mutters, still grinning when Liam shrugs a shoulder.

“Doesn’t matter,” Liam states before clarifying, “It’s not why I’m in love with you.”

Zayn snorts, nods.  There’s pink kissing his cheeks and Liam can’t fight his grin.

“ _Liam_ ,” Zayn says, almost too loudly and it comes out more like _Lee-yum_  but they’re both grinning at each other wildly, teeth showing and eyes crinkling.  “You’re amazing.”

Liam shakes his head, leads Zayn to the left, then right, holding Zayn in place as he tries to shuffle his feet.

“Safaa has been asking when you’re going to come visit.  Think she’s madly in love with you,” Zayn says, trying not to slip and fall when Liam spins them around a crooked table.  Sia’s there again: _I am titanium._

“I think it’s because she likes my cooking.  You’re such a shit cook, you know,” Liam jokes, tickling fingers up Zayn’s side.

“Watch it.”

Liam nods, ignoring the warning in Zayn’s eyes.  He traces a finger along Zayn’s cheek, all of the scruff freshly shaven this morning.  His quiff is standing tall and it’s almost impossible for Liam to see the flecks of hazel in Zayn’s eyes when Eleanor dims the lights, grinning at them with a scrunched up nose and Niall leaning on her shoulder whispering something that peppers blush against her high cheekbones.

“Can’t wait to get back to my flat,” Zayn whispers, leaning until his forehead is pressed against Liam’s.  “Looking forward to that blowjob you promised me this morning.”

Liam barks out a laugh, pulling Zayn closer.  He loves the way Zayn’s nose wrinkles when he giggles and his hands stay secure on Zayn’s hips when he says, “ _That’s_ why I love you Zayn.”

“Harry’s still okay with you moving in, yeah?” Zayn questions, pulling back.

Liam glances over his shoulder to Harry, green eyes peeking over the paper with a raised brow and a crazed smile over his lips.  Liam smiles back, whispering, “He’s right excited about it.  Things were becoming a bit cramped at our flat with Louis being there every second.  They need space.”

“I need you,” Zayn confesses and Liam’s rearing his head back to look on Zayn, the softness and innocence.  He sweeps a finger over Zayn’s bottom lip, nodding because he gets it.  He finally does.

That plan he sorted out when he was ten was missing a few steps: Figure out who _he_ wanted to be in life, letting go of control to enjoy all the small moments, building friendships with people who'll matter when he gets older, meeting a nice _man_ to settle down with, fall in love with, and be more like the man he _wanted_ to be, not intended to be.

When Zayn gentles a kiss against his lips, sweetly slow and wet, he knows he’s walking the right path and he’s thrilled he can’t see the guiding line beneath his feet anymore.  He can only see Zayn’s feet next to his, walking together to wherever it is he wanted to go.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a nice little 15K story that turned into a monster but I am so happy it did. I spent a week and a half creating this and each day was a nonstop thrill ride for me. Still a little new to writing Ziam (and Larry) and I truly hope I was able to create a world that feels like them. I also hope I was semi-good at making it humorous and fun too; hopefully my poor attempt at British slang wasn't too off either. I beta my own works and ask that you forgive me if some of the grammar or wording is a bit off. Maybe the errors won't be too noticeable?
> 
> Hopefully, if this is good enough, you'll rec it for someone else to read but I won't be crushed if it's not the best thing ever because I had too much fun writing it (almost didn't want to end it). I'm just grateful if at least one or person reads this besides me.


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